Etched in Your Skin
by 2014banana
Summary: Queen Elsa of Arendelle knew her soulmate would know of her magic, know of her curse. His words scripted elegantly across her flesh told her so. She just never expected her wayward sister's fiancé would be the man to utter those now awful words to her. Soulmark AU!
1. Those Words on my Skin

**A/N: There are many different takes on a "soul mark". Some versions have the name of your true love written on your skin, appearing at birth or at a certain age. Other versions have the first words spoken to you by your true love. Imagine if not everyone was graced with hints about who their soulmate was, or if what was etched in your skin were your soulmate's words, but not necessarily the _first_ words they ever spoke to you? This last scenario is my inspiration. **

**And of course, Disney's Frozen ain't mine...just the following mess is.**

* * *

 _ **It has been said that it would be far easier if everyone got their soul marks at the same time - either at their birth, or when each were matched age. But nothing in life is easy, especially something so prized.**_

OooOooooOooO

Elsa _loves_ her words.

She's fourteen when they burn their way across her hip. In the dead of night she awakens, crying madly and scratching at her skin, hoarfrost marching across the bedlinen and coating the room in rime. Her words hurt as they etch their way into her, and she can't help think they're not supposed to hurt. No one had warned her about the pain, and she panics because _something must be wrong_.

Elsa tears at her nightgown, yanking it up to expose the erythema and burning just at her hipbone. In the nicest, smartest, masculine scripted hand she's ever seen is written: _If you would just stop the winter and bring back summer...please._

Anna was born with her mark, words printed neatly across the boney prominence of her ankle: _You okay?_

Elsa spends two hours ghosting her fingers warily over the mark with tears in her eyes, carefully pressing cold fingertips against it like she's worried she'll smudge it if she's not careful. But she's not actually worried - everyone knows soul marks never fade or smudge or anything like that. They're permanent. It is now most permanent thing about her, aside from her ice. And for that, she can't stop her smile.

Her soulmate knows she has _magic_. He believes she can control it. Elsa wonders how he will learn of it as the locked gates and seclusion from the outside world become momentary forgotten, her mind lost in a beautiful fantasy. Perhaps, with him, she can learn to control the magic. Control the curse. For the first time in forever, a tendril of warmth unfurls somewhere deep in her heart.

Out of the corner of her eye Elsa catches something flickering and sparkling, distractedly. Her chin snaps up at find ice crystals, her ice crystals, rising slowly upwards towards the ceiling then pause - suspended. Elsa gasps, absolutely dumbfounded, because her ice has never done _that_ before.

Elsa then remembers herself, her curse and how she hurt Anna, what the old troll said and she resolves to forget any fantasy of ever finding her soulmate. Because she _can't_. No one can be that close. No one. Especially someone so important.

OooOooooOooO

Prince Hans Westergård was born with his soul mark, not that it does him any good. It's written over his heart, of all places, and as Hans came of age he couldn't help but think that a place so romantic was wasted on his banal mark: _Don't you see...I can't._

The letters are smushed together and the cursive too bit too boxy at the same time. It looks like a mess. Like someone had no proper concept or patience to hold a quill. What the hell was her rush?

Hans sometimes wonders what it is he fails to understand, fails to see she _can't do_. He'll lay awake, imagining all sorts of different scenarios...in his youth he likes the ones where he asks for the impossible like for fairy wishes to fly or for a magical genie lamp. As he ages, becomes more logical, he wonders if she is refusing him when he offers his hand to her in marriage. Or bartering over the price of tradable goods.

Hans develops a habit of resting a hand on his chest, rubbing his thumb against the place where he knows the marks is. His brothers take great joy in pointing that habit out to him, and he always makes a conscious effort to never do it again. Against his best efforts, he still sleeps with a hand curled up next to his chest. Because the words are _her_ s.

Truthfully a soul mark so plain is just as bad as having no mark at all; none of his brothers were graced with one. Hans is shunned for his; Lars, Caleb, and Rudi all pretended he was invisible for two years when they learned of it (it's what brothers do). Despite this, Hans hopes against hope that his soulmate will find him anyway.

Every year that passes after his fifteenth, it becomes harder and harder to have hope. She's likely some illiterate little tripe, anyway. Not meant for a prince. (Or so he tries to tell himself.)

When news of the tragic loss of Arendelle's king reaches the Southern Isles, Hans decides he is done with all that soulmate nonsense. He's going to get to Arendelle. He's going to be King.

Hans is certain there will be some awkward dialog with his blushing bride, the freshly minted queen following her coronation, regarding the words of his soulmate hastily etched over his heart. Hans is prepared with all sorts of romantic, pathetic rubbish to feed his queen depending on her reaction. Perhaps the reclusive girl will simply swoon over the fact he'd give up his soulmate to be with her instead.

Regardless, his fate is his own, and he shall be its master.


	2. Arrival in Arendelle

_The Crown Princess of Arendelle was most touched by the thoughtful gift you so kindly sent in celebration of the occasion of her Coronation. Her Royal Highness has been overwhelmed by all the wonderful messages and gifts she has received and sends you warmest thanks and best wishes._

 _With Deepest Regards,_

 _ **Elsa**_

OooOoooOooO

Hans stands staring at the thank you note held in his gloved hand. It is not unexpected to have received it, given the fine pair of Norwegian Fjord horses he sent to Arendelle in honor of the upcoming coronation, but he is unable to put the parchment down. It is the simple " _Elsa_ " scripted plainly at the bottom, beneath the beautifully elegant cursive of the body of the note, that has held his fascination.

It is absolutely atrocious. Her handwriting. It must be penned in the Crown Princess' own hand, Hans reasons. No one would allow such an awful hand on a note from a monarch, unless it was their own.

It all leads Hans to ponder _why_. Perhaps the Crown heir is a cripple, unable to hold the quill properly, or a simpleton, unable to master the skill of penmanship? Hans suddenly fears who, or rather _what_ , may await him in Arendelle. He's spent the last three years laying plans to get to Arendelle, representing the Southern Isles with plain intention to woo the future Queen - but an invalid won't do. He suddenly wonders if it is all for not.

There are scant accounts of the physical appearance of either of the Arendelle princesses - the single portrait Hans has laid eyes on betrayed the youth and fair beauty held by the elder princess...but he must concede that artist liberties may have been taken.

One never sees an unflattering portrait of a royal.

Hans signs, and tucks the note away. He is not so foolish as to fail to prepare contingencies. One must think nimbly, as plots and games can easily change.

Simply turning attention to the spare heir is a logical solution. Although she is five-years his junior, and not the Crown, she may be more desirable in the long run given the now questionable mental and physical faculties of the soon to be queen. The Crown may be ill-stricken, and not long for this world.

There is now satisfactory explanation in Hans' mind regarding _why_ no one seems to be getting anywhere with the young Crown Princess, despite how preferable she is, and why she's been squirreled away all these years, out of sight.

Hans writes Princess Elsa back, expressing his regard and appreciation for her kind words and requests audience with her, despite his hesitation to do so. He receives no response but rumor has it the future Queen is not holding audience with anyone until _after_ the coronation.

 _Of course she isn't_ , he thinks.

It is not until Hans is standing before the gilded mirror in his bedchamber preparing for his morning toilette on the day of his departure to the northern kingdom that something strange _pings_ at him. His gaze catches the reflection of his chest in the lamplight, _Don't you see...I can't_. His tired mind snags on the way the " _s_ " and " _e_ " curl into one another on his soul mark.

Something cold washes over him.

He leans closer to the glass to study the boxy curve to the " _a_ ", sucking sharply at his cheek like a pith as he remembers the penned _Elsa_ on the note from the future Queen. Similar. Very similar.

Hans considers the possibility, fleetingly toying with the idea that the future Queen of Arendelle's hand has been across his chest since birth.

He promptly dismisses it.

* * *

Arendelle is simply _lovely_.

Hans finds himself ridiculously enchanted by the quaint village which surrounds the castle, nestling up against the majestic mountains. Cool breezes play off the sparkling fjord which negates the late July heat. Even the locals milling about, chattering on excitedly in the marketplace as they await the opening of the castle gates are an endearing lot. Evidently the rumors are very true regarding the locked gates.

It all feels like _home_. That is, when the gates open.

So when Hans collides with a beautiful young woman dressed in a forest green gown of the finest quality he's yet seen (plucked from court, even), who seemingly pranced out of thin air to crash into his horse and collapse into a rowboat, he can't help but feel startled - like this is all _fate_.

"I'm so sorry," Hans says in a rush. "Are you hurt?"

The young beauty glances up at him as he climbs down from Sitron's saddle. The beauty is lifting seaweed from atop her head and sputtering with indignation "Hey. Oh, hey." She goes very still, something like recognition flares in her teal eyes. She blinks brightly up at him with a shocked smile, "What did you just say?"

Hans pauses as he extends his hand to her, _what did he just say?_

"Are you okay?" He wonders if she's hit her head.

" _You okay?_ " She echos, eyes darting to her stocking foot. The beauty bites at her lip before saying gently, "Hey. I-ya, no. No. I'm okay."

Hans gets the distinct impression she is momentarily pondering her existence in life. It's a good thing she's beautiful, and obviously is of great status here in Arendelle, because she may not have much else working for her in the long run.

Following a most awkward attempt to right her without plunging them both into the fjord, Hans manages to get them successfully to independently standing. His eyes meet hers again and he can see the attraction, the intense spark of interest in her gaze.

Hans knows he's attractive, and knows how to play into a person's desires to get what he wants. After all, that's exactly how he got here and his idiot of a brother, Lars, did not. This young beauty is likely a courtier, the daughter of a very prestigious Lord or something, and may prove useful to introduce him to the Queen. He is fortunate to have found someone so expeditiously to serve his purpose.

Hans offers the beauty a bow, perfectly executed and prepares to impress. "Prince Hans, of the Southern Isles." Hans says humbly.

"Princess Anna of Arendelle," she says as she dips into a neat curtsy.

"Princess...? My Lady." He drops to a knee, head bowed. Hans rises, praising the good Lord above for his fortune. She's beautiful, dim-witted, and so easily charmed! Princess Anna of Arendelle is absolutely _perfect_.

She is smiling so expectedly at him.

"I'd like to formally apologize for hitting the Princess of Arendelle with my horse...and for every moment after."

"No. No-no. It's fine." She reassures. "I'm not THAT Princess. I mean, if you'd hit my sister Elsa, that would be- yeash! `Cuz, you know..." Anna smiles sadly, patting Sitron kindly, "Hello."

Hans smiles, amused.

Anna adds, "But, lucky you, it's-it's just me."

Hans is now quite confused, "Just you?"

"Yes," Anna clasps her dainty hands together, pleased. "Your soulmate! Your words have been written on my ankle since the day I was born!"


	3. What do You Know About True Love?

_So this is what a party is like._

Elsa feels a tinge of something she tries to tell herself is excitement, (or terror - more likely terror), at the thought that she finally bears the full weight of reign, what she was born to. Her eyes sweep over the crowded ballroom, guests packed in to celebrate her coronation gala. The bejeweled tiara sits neatly behind a fringe of platinum swept into her plait. Despite the tiara's diminutive size, it represents something enormous and truly burdensome.

Elsa holds her gloved hands clasped carefully before her and allows her chin to rise ever so slightly, trying to rebut the feel of slight pride at her control thus far - it would taste a lie to say the ceremony was frost-free as her ice did momentarily threaten the holy relics of authority over Arendelle. In truth the whole thing felt like receiving a desperate stay of execution _._

 _One wrong move, and everyone will know._

Elsa feels a little of the anxiety lift at the reminder that there is presently no frost, so only a little unease settles to taint her smile as her eyes cut across the ballroom once more.

Anna is still no where in sight.

Elsa wonders where she ran off to after being pushed away earlier, and worries what trouble Anna may have found. Elsa tries to shake her guilt, guilt for snapping at her sister for her insistence about the gates staying open permanently, but Anna wouldn't take the polite cue to _stop_. As Anna pushed further, arguing, Elsa could feel her fragile control slip with frustration.

 _Conceal, don't feel. Don't let them know._

It was better Anna chose to go enjoy the party, slip into the crowd and disappear rather than stay standing at Elsa's side to hold audience with guests. Or so Elsa tells herself.

There is the briefest lull in the line of guests being presented. In the quiet moment Elsa lets herself once again take inventory of the room. Aside from the distinct lack of Anna, she notes the visiting dignitaries she has been briefed on or now met, and those she's not yet learned of. Elsa's eyes smoothly scan the festivities before she finds herself back at the absurd little game she promised herself _repeatedly_ she wouldn't play.

 _Which one is he? Which one is my true love?_

Elsa knows he's here, somewhere. After all, she would know her soulmate's penmanship anywhere. She's spent the last seven years with her soulmate's words a burned reminder that despite her kingdom of isolation, he would find her. Imagine her surprised shock when she stumbled across an entire sheet of parchment filled with his words requesting audience with her, signed with his name, as she was reviewing the order of the receiving line for tonight.

 _Admiral Prince Hans Westergård, of the Southern Isles._

Elsa had felt a stroke of warmth deep inside as she held the letter in her gloved hands, desperately trying to understand the bizarre urge to trail bare fingertips across the inked words. She's certain she looked a fool in the time it took her to catch herself fawning ridiculously over a simple letter.

It had been a very, very, long time since she had allowed herself to indulge in her curiosity, fantasize about her true love. Not since she was young enough to fall victim to the promise of completion a true love brings, and disregard the danger (of her). Keeping the gates closed after Papa and Mama died kept him safe, not simply her.

It is just now that Elsa has survived her coronation and still managed to kept her magic hidden from the outside world that she has this traitorous little thought that maybe with him, the person meant to complete her, she _could_ do this. All the time.

And the gates _could_ stay open.

"Elsa!"

It is hours later, and the fatigue of holding tight to controlled grace is wearing at Elsa's resolve not to run and hide. Years of isolation have left her unable to manage the overwhelming task of socializing, so it is almost a welcomed interruption when Anna's voice calls out to her. It prompts Elsa's measured smile to reappear as she nods graciously to the guests she's turning from, and finds Anna skidding to a halt behind her.

"I mean," Anna restarts, "Queen Elsa."

Elsa's careful smile loosens with amusement at her little sister, who's genuflecting in afterthought. A stranger has followed Anna and with familiarity.

He's tall and handsome - a man of significant rank with a sash of a royal house Elsa just can't place tucked neatly under what looks like a foreign kingdom's formal dress attire.

As Anna blushes she takes two steps back to bring the stranger beside her.

Despite the snapping reproof lined up on Elsa's tongue at Anna's familiarity with a perfect stranger, a deeply engrained politeness has Elsa's eyes fleetingly meeting his.

As their eyes meet, a strange heat ignites low in her belly before curling outward to course with the beat of her heart. The words etched in her skin _tingle_ with heat. It is not an entirely unpleasant sensation, but her soul mark has never done that before.

His eye are shining like polished peridot with flecks of gold, and he offers Elsa a very startled, nervous twist of lips. The handsome man gives a brief nod, a bow, as his arm folds humbly to his chest. Elsa catches the way a large, gloved thumb brushes across his chest. A stroked motion, soothing. Her own fingers fidget with the temptation to press to her soul mark.

Anna breaks the spell Elsa has fallen under with, "May I present, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles."

Elsa can feel her smile tip genuine, a delightful flutter quickens her pulse, hearing his name spoken - _meeting him_ , and then, "We would like to ask," Anna and Prince Hans start awkwardly, sharing private eyes and smiles for one another as their arms entwine, then Prince Hans grins wider, "for your blessing..." and with sickening saccharine sweetness they say in unison, "of our marriage!"

Elsa's heart drops, her breath caught painfully in her chest because certainly she misheard. Something awful aches, and the world crashes down around her. Surely she misheard, "Your marriage?"

"Yes!" Anna squeals.

Elsa doesn't know where to start, that is how to unravel this nonsense - except maybe she got this all wrong, "I'm confused."

What about Anna's soulmate? Surely a girl as romantic as Anna wouldn't throw away a chance to be with her _soulmate_...and what of Hans? Aren't those words burned in Elsa's flesh in his hand? What is he doing?

Elsa blinks.

Anna is beaming a wide grin as she explains in a ramble, something about soup, roast, and ice cream all while touching affectionately the man Elsa suspects is _her_ soulmate. This needs to stop. Anna needs to _slow down._

"No one's brothers are staying here. No one is getting married." Elsa says firmly.

"What?" Anna says, taken aback.

"May I talk with you?" Elsa darts an uneasy glance to the side, courtiers are watching this all unfold with interest, as are visiting dignitaries. Elsa is mortified. "Alone?"

There is no way she's having this conversation in the middle of a ballroom.

Anna evidently thinks otherwise, or fails to think at all, and soon fierce words are exchanged questioning who knows what about true love, the vague soul mark Anna bears, and Elsa is then telling the guards to close the gates, just trying to get to the seclusion of her rooms before Anna grabs carelessly at Elsa's hand, snatching the glove off.

Elsa is so tightly wound, the swirling storm inside threatening disaster as Anna continues to escalate the attack, personalizing it all. As Elsa gets to the door, it snaps. It's too much. That fragile control she's managed shatters like ice.

" _ **Enough!"**_

OooOooooOooO

There is a deafening ring hanging heavily in the air.

In the stilled silence of the ballroom now sits a barricade of gnarled, spiked ice glistening viciously in the wake of Queen Elsa's departure - a fluttered cape retreating out the doors. Hans finds himself frozen, stupidly staring at the conjured ice left behind by that beautiful enchantress.

Well _._ That would certainly explain why Elsa was hidden away from the world.

Hans considers Elsa's ice. He considers the words branded over his heart, how his soul mark seemed to tingle with warmth and caused something hot to hook low in his belly as he stood helpless under Elsa's cool gaze, and with a conviction he can't explain he knows that those words will one day bear breath and life by that woman - he will hear her voice pleading, _Don't you see...I can't._

Plans quickly realign in Hans' mind, a new plot needed in light of current developments. One that ends with not just Arendelle his, but Elsa in his arms as well.

A wave of adrenaline and he's called to action, propelled into motion and after Princess Anna who insists on going after Elsa - because that girl is going to get herself _killed_ chasing after an icy sorceress - sister or not. Hans can't have that, not with the uncertainty that still remains in Elsa's fate.

Princess Anna, his now wayward fiancée (suddenly a very unsettled thing), has left him in charge, and in charge he shall be. The night sky is tipping towards morning, the dawn breaking over the horizon as Hans sits wearily at Elsa's desk in her study. He's forgone sleep to look over the the current state of affairs in Arendelle, preparing to brief the counsel on the allocation of resources with the current emergency.

It is lack of sleep he will blame for the fact he can't stop his stupid excitement from stirring something very visceral every time he finds Elsa's personal notations in the columns of the pages. Her atrocious handwriting repeatedly stirs a smile in the corner of his mouth.

 _His soulmate._

Hans rises, pushing back all romantic notion because he's made a mess of things, because not yet. First, the heroic prince needs to save Arendelle from destruction.


	4. Hang on - We Like to go Fast

Anna stands in the small trading post watching Oaken with all of his immense height, squeeze back behind his counter to sit down lowly, following his ejection of the burly mass of a man covered in frost and ice back out into the storm. The real howler in July storm.

Elsa's storm.

 _Only one crazy enough to be out in this storm is you, dear. You and this fellow._

There was something about him (that fellow - the other crazy person out in the storm) that Anna can't shake, almost magnetized towards and she can't pin down _why._

She also can't pin down why her soul mark seemed to radiate a heat that washed over her with arousal when he fleetingly caught her eye. It was all something she's never felt before - like an irrational desire to peel away all the frozen layers of the guy, despite his curt tone and attempt to intimidate. In the moment the enormity of her feelings were so overwhelming that she couldn't bear to look him. She was suddenly so insecure and absolute unsure of what to say.

When Anna finally did properly meet his gaze, the mass of man had his brown eyes narrowed like he'd been too annoyed to give her proper consideration but the rest of his features had softened. Like she was... _something important?_ No, that wasn't right. Although Anna had no words for what his expression was, it made her feel safe. Made her feel _brave_.

Anna hasn't the faintest clue what to do with any of that as she reaches down to brush fingers across her ankle. Her soulmate's words, _Hans' words_ she reminds herself, because he has a name now, are _warm_.

 _You okay?_

Anna straightens up again wondering who that ice harvester guy is. The gruff man is obviously a Sami given the style of his clothing and the fact he works so far north. That and his rather barbaric demeanor.

It takes longer than Anna is proud of to realize Oaken has said something to her.

"Oh!" Anna blinks, "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said I'm sorry about this violence. I will add a quart of lutefisk, so we'll have good feelings." Oaken says sweet as pie, and places a jar on the counter, "Just the outfit and boots, yah?"

Anna bites at her lip. Among her current liabilities are lack of knowledge of the mountain passes, a mode of transportation, and proper provisions. Luckily her one asset is the the kingdom's coffers. Well, that and the firm understanding that the trick to successful negotiations is knowing exactly how bad the other party wants something, and how much you are willing to give.

Anna looks between the Sami's supplies and the door. He has a sled, loaded with worthless ice blocks, and business is bad. He must know these passes like the back of his hand. And most importantly, he knows the storm is magically coming from the North Mountain.

Where there is a magical winter storm, there is an Elsa.

"I'll take his stuff, too." Anna says.

OooOooooOooO

There is a swarm of butterflies exponentially multiplying in Anna's chest as she stands just out of sight of the ice harvester, who thankfully hadn't gone far. She had found him in a nearby stable. He is singing a most ridiculous duet with himself as he plays a lute, and Anna is _mesmerized_. His voice is warm like caramel, and Anna can't even focus on the funny words he's singing because she's blushing like a rabbit-hearted fool in anticipation to just get to _talk_ with him.

She hears the man call good night in song, ending his duet (solo) and Anna is suddenly blushing for an entirely different reason, 'cause oh my _\- what if he's not properly dressed?_

She's got to talk to him now, before he becomes _inappropriate_. Anna takes a breath, steadies herself and steps into the stable, saying the first thing that pops in her head. "Nice duet."

The man sits up with a start, head whipping over to catch sight of Anna. "Oh," he deflates a little, a warmth infusing his words, "It's just you."

 _Just you?_ Anna wonders.

Then, like he just remembered his gruff persona, "What do you want?"

And oh, suddenly Anna wants _so_ many things, things she _shouldn't_ want as they are not appropriate with a stranger. She doesn't quite know how to handle the rush of feelings...after all, she's engaged to her soulmate!

Anna shakes that all off and sticks with her immediate want, "I want you to take me up the North Mountain."

"I don't take people places," he sighs, laying back into the hay and dropping his cap over his eyes. _Disappointed?_

"Let me rephrase that..." 'cause Anna will not be dismissed by this man. She throws a sack of supplies, supplies she knows he desperately needs, at him.

It knocks a surprised breath from him. He sits up, darting a suspicious glance at her as he examines the contents of the sack.

"Take me up the North Mountain." Anna says gently, realizing her mistake in approach. He evidently doesn't take orders. "Please."

He still doesn't look convinced.

Rational explanation, then. One she shouldn't have to spell out entirely and, "Look, I know how to stop this winter."

The man considers her, and Anna's soul mark tingles again. Before she can think on that any he's dropping back into the hay. "We leave at dawn." He sighs in resignation, resuming his attempt to sleep, "And you forgot the carrots for Sven."

Anna toys with the idea of curling up next to this man she's so intrigued by to sleep until morning, something totally inappropriate and something she wants without understanding why, before remembering Hans.

NO. She has to get to Elsa now, and get back home to Hans.

Anna remembers she still holds some cards and can avoid delay. She had figured she could hold back the carrots to dangle in front of the man like, well, a carrot. Use only if absolutely necessary.

It's absolutely necessary.

Anna pitches the bag of carrots at him with frustration, managing to (accidentally) hit him in the face.

"Oops! Sorry. Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't - " Anna catches herself, because no. She's still the one with the power here, the control. She's hiring him. She'll not apologize.

"We leave now." Anna says firmly. "Right now."

Anna turns on her heel and marches outside to wait anxiously, because the stupid swarm of butterflies have not settled in the least.

OooOooooOooO

 _Thank you. Um, how's your head?_

For as long as Kristoff can remember, those words have been beautifully scripted, small and stark and indelible along the nape of his neck, arching down toward his shoulder. He's given those funny little words no more thought than a freckle for all the significance they hold for him. Maybe because his mark is out of sight, or maybe because it has been him and Sven for just as long and that's enough. All he needs. He doesn't need a soulmate.

He's got friends.

(Bulda says that's a problem. That he's peculiar for dismissing a soul mark. Humans lucky enough to have a magical gift bestowed upon them in the hopes they may find joy should not ignore it. She also says he is peculiar for " _that thing with the reindeer that's outside a few of nature's laws._ " He doesn't care for what she's implying despite her cheeky grin and playful giggle because, not just _NO_. _Hell no_.)

As Kristoff came of age, Bulda would gush on about how his soul mark contained the words of his true love, and should be cherished and guarded. Kept private to prevent from being tricked by a charlatan claiming to be his match, since the words would be spoken by his true love at _any time_ , not simply as they first meet as some presume.

Bulda liked to say, _people will trick you. Curse you. Beat you. Every one of them's bad - except you. And, well, her. His soulmate._

Grand Pabbie told Kristoff not to be so worried about it, his soul mark that is. The wise old troll said people would know their soulmate by the way the mark reacted when the other came into into their life. It wasn't so much by hearing the words spoken. That's the trick. The curse. Soul marks being nothing but a prank on humans by some evil troll, something for them to fall victim to and covet with their innate greed and lust.

Kristoff is presently giving those words significant thought, and truthfully for the first time in forever. Mostly because they are hot, _blissfully hot_ , and sparking some sort of insane arousal for the chatterbox of a princess sitting beside him on the bench of his sleigh. And it's terrifying how real it all feels.

Grand Pabbie was right. Kristoff knows, inexplicably: Princess Anna is his soulmate.

If he's being honest with himself, he feels terrible about it. Princess Anna deserves _better_ than him. Better than to be cursed and destined for a lowly ice harvester, orphaned and raised by trolls. No title, no fortune, and no future. She deserves a knight in shining armor.

Kristoff doesn't get much time to worry about how to tell her his epiphany because as they speed up the mountain pass in the darkness, she blurts out that she evidently went off and got herself engaged to a perfect stranger.

"Wait." Kristoff says confused. Surely he misheard. All he asked for was what made the queen go all ice-crazy. "You got engaged to someone you just met?"

That's... _incredibly offensive._

Throwing away your soulmate, throwing away _him_ , for a perfect stranger?

Kristoff huffs angrily, waiting for Anna try to explain _that_ one.

Anna hardly pauses, "Yeah. Anyway, I got mad and so she got mad and then she tried to walk away, and I grabbed her glove..."

"Hang on." Kristoff bristles, "You mean to tell me you got engaged to someone you just met?!"

"Yes. Pay attention." Anna reprimands like its nothing, "But the thing is she wore the gloves all the time, so I just thought," Anna gestures animatedly, "maybe she has a thing about dirt."

Following an insane series of responses by Anna to what should demonstrate basic knowledge of her _soulmate_ , that clearly she didn't bother to determine (didn't her parents ever teach her about strangers?!), Kristoff shrugs dismissively, "Doesn't sound like true love."

Anna scoffs, offended, "Are you some sort of love expert?"

"No," Kristoff concedes, but what does that have to do with the price of beans? "But I have friends who are."

Anna says haughtily, "You have friends. Who are love experts... I'm not buying it."

Kristoff glances at Sven who has slowed with ears alert, and realization hits him that there must be something tracking the sleigh.

"Stop talking." Kristoff says with urgency.

Something fierce and protective overtakes him, and he has to keep Anna _safe_. Even if she chose someone over him, he won't hold it against her. There are wolves, an entire pack, and good grief Anna needs to quit arguing and just _listen_ and much to his horror his sleigh ends up a fireball at the bottom of a ravine and him dangling off the side of a cliff.

It is with resignation he stumps into the snow, tired and frustrated and _hurt_ as Anna fumbles through apologies for everything (except for getting engaged to someone who is not her soulmate, but Kristoff is going to keep that information to himself to avoid any further heartache).

Kristoff frowns at Sven, "Of course I don't want to help her anymore. In fact, this whole thing has ruined me for helping anyone ever again."


	5. Go Back Home, Your Life Awaits

_It will be good to be their King._

Hans understands he has a brilliant mind for strategy, he always has, and is a natural leader. Benevolent. Once, at the age of ten, he convinced the kitchen staff and the Royal Guards at his father's summer palace to prepare sweets and distribute to the children of the nearby village after his father had refused to support the traditional mid-summer celebrations. And at seven-and-ten, he successfully took a pair of frigates into a skirmish across enemy lines to resolve a conflict. He received an award and began promoting quickly in the Southern Isles Navy - eventually achieving the rank of Admiral. Not that his brothers would recognize his talents, but it felt good.

It feels so _right_ , now, to be helping here in Arendelle, to have others turning to him for answers - like it's what he was meant for.

From time to time he catches his tired mind wandering off, carelessly, imaging snippets of a life seated beside his queen, his soulmate, and doing this for a lifetime. It all make so much sense now, how the fates aligned, Hans muses.

He truthfully worries how he knows this, so vehemently, without having heard her speak the words etched across his heart. He somehow knows everything will be okay. At least, until that time he hear her words.

Hans hands a cloak to an older woman, smiling humbly as she says, "Arendelle is indebted to you, Your Highness."

Hans dips his chin in acknowledgement, dutifully. A servant to the people, to the Crown, working the frontlines of the disaster. For the good of his future subjects.

"The castle is open. There's soup and hot glögg in the Great Hall," Hans shares.

 _Please let these people be okay._

Provisions for the subsequent feasts celebrating Elsa's coronation (the now cancelled feasts) serve as immediate supplies to feed the common people in addition to the upset dignitaries and Lords, but Hans knows it won't last more than a few days. A sudden freeze in the dead of summer will be devastating - he fears the long term recovery efforts will be futile.

(His darling soulmate needs knock-off this winter, he shivers, and not for the first time. As he does, thinking of Elsa, his soul mark prickles with warmth, and something like longing tugs at him. Most foreign, yet pleasant. It lessens his frustration with her.)

Hans has just threatened a sniveling, conniving, little prick of dignitary, some foreign Duke overly obsessed with the economic impact of relief efforts on future availability of Arendelle exports, when a commotion in the village square catches his attention.

A horse, frantic with tension as it charges into the square, sends people running out of the way.

In the next moment Hans has the terrifying realization that this horse is the mount Anna took, one of the Norwegian Fjord horses he sent to Arendelle, and it is in a panic without it's rider.

"Whoa!" Hans calls, he knows these beasts - beautiful, powerful, and he knows how to calm the steed. "Whoa! Whoa, boy. Easy. Easy." Hans soothes, watching the wildness slip from the horse's eyes, a gloved hand stroking calmly as he asserts himself. Calm. In control.

There is no sign of injury or illness in the animal, nor hint of Anna, and Hans glances out the square, then to the mountains, praying that in the next moment Anna, silly, foolish Anna, will appear. The villagers are looking uneasy, slightly panicked.

A beat. Nothing.

His heart sinks a little as he curses himself. If he had been in his right mind yesterday, not so overwhelmed with the realization that his soulmate is the Queen of Arendelle and she can evidently wield the power of winter from her gorgeous, petite and perfect hands, he wouldn't have allowed Anna to charge off into the night with nothing but a steed and a cloak and more confidence than she knew what to do with.

This is his fault. CLEARLY.

Looks like he's going to have to go to her rescue.

"Princess Anna is in trouble." Hans calls out. "I need volunteers to go with me to find her!"

Numerous men come forward, some from other kingdoms in addition to citizens of Arendelle, and Hans thinks this may work. There is good support. He may have a fighting chance to find Anna, or if _very_ lucky, Elsa.

The Duke offers, "I volunteer two men, my Lord!"

Hans nods, takes note of the not so subtle whispers to the men beside the irritating little man. The sneer one wears churns Hans' stomach. He decides those two are not to be searching alone, unaccompanied, for his true love.

OooOOoooOooO

July precipitation generally brings a delightful petrichor; dry earth and stones thirstily taking on the rain and perfuming everything in Arendelle. Elsa can appreciate the scent. As a girl, it meant a welcome reprieve from the oscillations between stifling humidity and arid breezes that would cling feverishly in mid-summer. The scent reminds Elsa of something carefree and untroubled, something like her sweet Anna.

The tempest of winter, in contrast, has little scent, especially out among the pines and firs, their laden branches low and the air still, but undeniably recognizable. Away from the smokey fires of the village homes, away from the salty air that hangs over the fjord, winter air comes crisp and sharp. For that, Elsa calls it clean. Pure. Like the world being baptized anew in snow.

That all makes up the _somewhat_ lucidly-strung thoughts which become known to Elsa as she awakens on her first day of true rule. Her lips pull a slight smile at the smell before blinking blue eyes wide, confused, finding snow and _ice_. Her ice.

Everywhere.

Elsa groans, and throws an arm over her eyes because, _oh_. That's right.

Her first official day of rule and she's already fled for the hills and conjured an icy fortress to serve as her new seat of power. Not a solid start to a first day for a monarch, truthfully.

Her second thought is more of an awareness of heartbreak and regret, aching pain hard in her chest. In her foolishness she'd gone and made fairy-wishes for love and happiness (and to find control of the storm inside, with him), just to have it all _dashed_. She should have known better, she tells herself, should have known not to place trust in magic.

In her anger and shame she'd gone off and given into her almost carnal desire to let go and simply stop resisting her magic - to see how much she could do and traversed the uncrossable hurdle that can not be uncrossed. The resulting gleeful icy pageant refused to be subdued or give a soft white _damn_ about what it touched _. It felt glorious._

Elsa's third thought is something about a kingdom of isolation being her birthright - one as inhospitably frozen as she'd like it to be. After all, she's nothing but a monster, and who would truly accept a soulmate like her? Prince Hans was bound to refuse her whenever he learned of her curse, she tells herself. This is better. Let the two people Elsa is meant to love most in this world, love each other and stay safely _away_...

Elsa is suddenly jarred back from her swirling thoughts by _knocking_. It makes her flinch, bolting upright.

Knocking?

Clearly Elsa isn't in her right state of mind because rather than do what she's always done when someone knocks ( _go away, Anna_ \- or - silently pretend she is invisible or far too busy to be bothered to respond). Much to her horror, Elsa proceeds to _open the door._

Before Elsa can reconsider, Anna is wandering in, awkwardly gawking in the foyer at the architectural marvel that is Elsa's ice palace, at the immensity of it all, and at Elsa and her unpinned plait and icy gown that hugs every curve like a second skin (it's not proper, for propriety's sake or the weather's).

Anna offers dumbfounded praise for all of Elsa's creations.

It all is rather marvelous (and beautifully defiant). Secretly, Elsa always did get a little drunk on praise, so she lifts her chin in pride with a soft smile, "I never knew I was capable of all this."

Anna starts apologizing - but doesn't seem to get at all the issue with the _soulmate_. Clearly Anna has no idea, because she fails to even mention him - only apologizing for not knowing about the magic and for arguing.

Elsa bites her tongue and says nothing, nothing to clarify that all the snow and ice are all born from Elsa's frozen heart because it is better this way. Anything Elsa can do or not do to get Anna to just _leave,_ she will do. "It's okay. Really. Just, you should go."

It works about as well as anything has until this point in Elsa's life: which is to say, not at all.

Anna keeps talking.

Olaf. An inadvertent magical creation, a walking, talking snowman mistakenly brought to life which, logic would dictate, Elsa is to clearly to blame for, wanders into the fray.

Anna introduces him.

Befuddled, all Elsa can think to say is, "And you're alive?"

"Umm," Olaf drawls watching his twig hands flex and clench, unsure of the response Elsa is looking for. "I _think_ so?"

Her words spoken moments ago, _I never knew what I was capable of,_ have an all new meaning.

Elsa considers her ungloved hands, small and dangerous with potential, and concern grows because motherhood to a new race of snowmen is not anywhere on a list of responsibilities she's ready to face.

And with that, it is not to late to run, Elsa decides.

Anna follows (of course she does).

"Your life awaits," Elsa encourages Anna, reminding her that she can go back home and open up the gates like she wanted so desperately. "Yes, I'm alone. But I'm alone and _free_. Go back home where you'll be safe from me."

"Actually," Anna cringes, "we're not."

Irrationally Elsa is offended. Of course she's safe. That's the whole point in running far away to an isolated mountain top. "What do you mean ' _we're not_ '?"

"I get the feeling you don't know."

Elsa does not like to be told she's lacking knowledge, or somehow missing something. She bristles angrily, "What do I not know?"

"Arendelle's in deep, deep, deep, deep," Anna wears a pained don't shoot the messenger expression. "...snow."

 _What?!_

Evidently, Elsa set-off an eternal winter. Everywhere.

"But it's okay," Anna says brightly. "You can just unfreeze it."

"What? I don't know how!"

Elsa panics, fear overtakes every rational bone in her body. She's backed into a corner and has to _fight_.

"I'm not leaving without you," Anna says naïvely. So trusting. Unable to see the threat Elsa poses. Whoever the guy is that Anna drug with her on this fool's errand seems to recognize the looming danger. Of course Anna ignores him, too.

 _FINE._

"Yes," Elsa says, knowing this is the wrong thing to do but doesn't know what other option she has to keep Anna away. "You are."

If Elsa can conjure a sweet, child-like snowman, she can conjure a terrifying nightmare of one, too.

As she watches Marshmallow lumber off, escorting her sister out and away, something freezes inside with the realization that she truly a monster.


	6. I Have a Thick Skull

"Uh oh."

Kristoff groans, stomach sinking as he watches barbed spikes shoot out from Marshmallow's shoulders and elbows following Anna's snowball smacking the beast on the back. The infuriated monster roars bitterly.

"Great." Kristoff says with exasperation. Fiesty pants has got to learn when to stop being so impulsive. "Now you made him mad!"

"...I'll distract him." Olaf calls, "You guys go!"

Not sure exactly _how_ a magical snowman head will stop a snow beast, but seeing as how Olaf is evidently indestructible and that thing is sorta like his brother, _okay_.

Kristoff grabs Anna's hand and runs.

Kristoff doesn't have the luxury of time to reflect on how badly Queen Elsa just wanted to be left alone (there is an _I told you so_ knocking around in his head, directed at Anna). Instead, he finds himself on an insane jaunt through a maze of conifers sagging under the weight of the snow with Anna, and Marshmallow hot on their trail.

They manage to slide (tumble) down a steep slope, uninjured, away from the beast.

The snow-beast lands hard, just behind them.

 _Ugh_.

Kristoff pulls Anna up and to a sprint, "This way!"

Much to his surprise, Anna suddenly snags a branch of a heavily snow-weighed fir. The snow comes loose and the tree snaps upright, right into Marshmallow.

The beast sails backwards.

 _WOW_. That was...impressive. A ridiculously pleased laugh bellows out of him, "Ho-ho-ho!"

Something like pride swells low in Kristoff's belly, something that feels like _that's MY girl_.

"I got him!" Anna cheers, beautiful and brave and clever, blue eyes alight with excitement.

Kristoff can't keep the surprised awe from spilling into his fleeting smile as they run, eventually bursting into a barren patch of snow devoid of conifers. The dark sky surround them as Kristoff stops short and - _oh no_.

"Whoa, stop."

A cliff. A dead-end.

Anna's voice is a mix of concern and _what now,_ "It's a hundred foot drop."

Kristoff glances down. Anna clearly has no concept of measure or distance. Kristoff corrects her, because this is worse then she realizes, "It's two hundred."

He's hurrying with the rope, securing Anna first because the last thing he wants is his infuriating little soulmate plummeting to her death before, well, he spends the rest of his life trying to understand why the universe hates him so much as to have her marry Prince Charming and not him.

Kristoff drops to his knees and cuts frantic through the snow, making an anchor for the rope. It will have to do. Kristoff mentally prepares himself to rappel in tandem, dangerously down the side of the icy cliff.

"Okay," Anna sounds incredibly skeptical as she stands watching him, "What if we fall?"

"There's twenty feet of fresh powder down there; it'll be like landing on a pillow..." Kristoff says as he considers his work. Looks like the anchor should hold.

Plunging to their death may _not_ occur in the next thirty seconds, he thinks optimistically. He gives the anchor a tug and decides that truthfully this whole thing is probably futile, so he adds a skeptic, "Hopefully."

The snow beast roars closer, like a curse. Time is up.

"Okay, Anna. On three," Kristoff says.

"Okay. You tell me when..." Anna starts warming up, ridiculously adorable given the circumstances, like preparing for fisticuffs.

Kristoff starts counting off and Anna continues her little pep talk, "Oh, I'm ready. I was _BORN_ ready. Yes!"

This princess of his has far too much confidence and needs to bring her expectations of how well this will play out down a notch. Kristoff says, "Calm down."

In the next split second a blur of lumber sails through the air towards them and Anna is calling out something - _three_ or _tree_...it is a moot point which she really says - because the next thing Kristoff can wrap his mind around is the fact Anna jumped, and he's now free falling, suddenly jarred to halt by the rope.

 _It held!_

Kristoff glances at Anna, she doesn't look injured (yet). She looks surprisingly calm - adrenaline suits her.

Something gives the rope a harsh tug and they lurch forward, into the rock face of the cliff. Kristoff's skull takes the brunt of it and everything goes black.

.

.

.

Kristoff is unsure how much time has passed when the world restarts disorientingly around him. It is accompanied by the sensation that he is falling, and there is screaming.

He might be doing some of the screaming, too.

Kristoff has the air knocked from his chest, hard, by the impact with snow covered earth. His eyes fly open, finding nothing but _white_.

Kristoff's first thought is that he's died, and those Christians down in Arendelle were absolutely right about heaven after all. This must be heaven - all white. Then he wonders why he's _here_.

Hu.

The lichen-centric trolls may be disappointed after all those years of Fleemy worship. He also joined in, so surely he doesn't get to go to heaven.

In Kristoff's next breath he realizes his head hurts like hell, and his face is freezing wet.

Snow.

The world is set right ('cause he's not dead after all and his spiritual crisis can wait) and Kristoff sits up. He fixes the panicking snowman who can't feel his legs, and also can't manage not to patronize Sven in the process.

Sven _is not_ a cute little reindeer.

Kristoff scowls grumpily at Olaf as he shoves him away, "Don't talk to him like that."

He glances over at Anna, and to his relief she appears okay. Something warm swells in him that he is a bit too terrified to study as he watches her struggle to extricate herself from the snow.

He gives a fond shake of his head as he rises. "Here," Kristoff says, lifting Anna out of the snow.

Kristoff is suddenly overwhelmed by a rush of emotion - Anna is his soulmate and she's in his arms and it's all so _right_...his heart is full, spilling over. His resolve to keep his trap shut about the mess Anna has made is beginning to waiver because there is a glorious rush of desire simply holding her brings.

"Whoa!" Anna breathes as he puts her down, and some something snags his heart into his throat when their eyes meet. She looks so besottedly at him.

Kristoff's mind goes blank. "You okay?"

"Thank you," Anna replies breathlessly. She reaches up and brushes a hand tenderly to his temple, looking just as lost as him in the moment. "...Um...how's your head?"

His soul mark flares with heat, exquisitely. Kristoff brings a hand to capture Anna's, small and unsure, and he holds to press it flat to his mark, those funny little words she's just spoken out loud, and suddenly all sense of control shatters inside.

"What you just said..." Kristoff manages, voice just above a whisper, tongue thick and head stupid, "has been written right here for as long as I can remember."

Anna's eyes go wide with something like understanding. Her fingers curl reverently across the spot. She wets her lips carefully, "Oh, Kristoff. It's you."

Anna smiles, radiantly, expectantly.

So of course he has to kiss her.


	7. Be on Guard

Charging head-first into a most unnatural winter storm and up a foreign mountain (one that he has no working knowledge of), should rank towards the top of Hans Westergård's most idiotic ideas thus far in life. It should also serve as a solemn attestation to his ability to lead, although Hans genuinely has to wonder why none of the men on this expedition are questioning his sanity.

To his credit, it has thus far not been an entire failure. The proprietor of a remote trading post, a loyalist named Oaken, was most helpful in confirming that Anna had indeed passed through, and she had managed to secure proper provisions for the inclement weather as well as likely hired a guide to take her up the North Mountain. That was rather sensible of her. Prudent.

It doesn't ease the anxiety churning in Hans' gut, however.

A vulnerable, young, beautiful princess alone in the wilderness with some unknown rogue savage is far from comforting - Hans can only assume the Sami may be of dubious ethics and have other intentions than to simply help Anna get to the source of the Queen's winter storm. The expressions exchanged by a few of the other men in the search expedition at the news said they may be thinking the same thing. Anna has not made a great first impression upon her subjects or visiting dignitaries regarding any potential stability of the royal house holding the monarchy. The amount of damage control that will be necessary to mitigate it all is almost overwhelming.

(That is problem for another day.)

With now an actual destination in mind rather than continuing to aimlessly wander through a snow-covered forest to their ultimate demise, the men accompanying Hans have enjoyed speculative talk during the journey. Most of it regards the unease of possibly confronting a mercurial icy sorceress (to which he has reminded them, no harm is to come to), and the occasional foolishly optimistic words of praise identifying bravery and ingenuity in Princess Anna which Hans suspects is purely for his benefit as her affianced.

It would seem at present, a non-magical, gregarious and flighty ruler with a warrior prince as a bridegroom is more desirable than a magical, volatile and flighty unpromised female ruler. Evidently.

(Hans knows how to _fix_ that.)

All that aside, Hans allows a sliver of hope to grow - perhaps his wayward fiancée is not nearly as daft as he assumed, is alive and with Elsa, and (something Hans wants almost desperately) maybe he will be able to address his darling soulmate alone...to smooth out a few things.

Alone. He can't have eyes nor ears for such a discussion with the Queen in case the only way to convince Elsa to return to Arendelle and stop the winter is to reveal what he believes is fact; that he is indeed her match and offer himself for all eternity to her. Surely that would thaw her icy demeanor. Of course it will leave him trying to resolve the little dilemma of being engaged to her baby sister.

Hans frowns.

That is the tricky part, which must be handled delicately. Hans still hasn't settled on an acceptable explanation for his abrupt proposal to Anna, his failure to refute Anna's insistence he is her soulmate, or find a scenario which ends with the option of living happily ever after as the King of Arendelle in play.

Hans knows women, knows their scorn and fickle tendencies when matters of the heart are concerned. The fairer sex must be handled delicately. With a gentle hand. Hans is far too familiar with the emotions tied to their decisions. For that reason he can't offer the truth plainly; that he lost all hope of finding his soulmate after the age of eight and ten...and at twenty, world dark without any semblance of love or care, he set his sights on Arendelle to get out that hell referred to as the Southern Isles court and soulmate be damned.

No doubt Elsa will refuse him outright, or if not, ensure he'd never hold any power in her Kingdom.

Hans sighs heavily. But he'd still be with her, he reminds himself as bitterly cold wind bites at his nose. Even that could prove highly pleasant - Hans can be very persuasive, especially if Elsa shares affections with him as he suspects will happen. Hans has found great success in seduction thus far in life. Seducing a soulmate to do his bidding should be easy.

Hans' thoughts are shattered as an icy fortress comes into sight, looming with austere grandeur atop the highest peak of the North Mountain.

Elsa's palace.

.

.

.

 _Where are you_ , the blood burning through Hans now seems to sing as he races up the iced stairs inside Elsa's palace. He know the two Weselton goons charged in with crossbows drawn, intent on killing his Queen while he was left to battle an iced beast for his life.

 _My match. Death of me, my soulmate, my only—_

Hans finds himself drawn straight to Elsa.

Hans skids to a halt, arms thrown wide preventing the adrenaline-charged men behind him from pushing past to do anything rash as he stumbles upon an incensed Elsa playing a vicious game of cat and mouse with the Weselton goons.

 _Good lord, she's perfect_.

However...Hans can't stand to have blood on Elsa's beautiful, resplendent little hands, and has to stop her. There is enough fear of her already, from her own subjects no less, without bloodshed.

"Queen Elsa!" Hans calls out with authority, clearly startling her. Blue eyes, iced and cold and wild with fury snap to him, "Don't be the monster they fear you are."

It has the same affect as his actions soothing a frantic steed. She pauses, breath caught back and left considering her gorgeous hands. Her posture shifts, still tall and proud and but not so driven by passion when that Weselton bastard with a death sentence, pinned to the iced wall, raises his weapon to discharge at Hans' beautiful, darling Elsa as she stands down.

Hans doesn't think. He works entirely on instinct. Hans manages to lay hands on the man as the bow is released. And with little option available to him, Hans jerks the crossbow up. The arrow slices eerily through the support of iced chandelier and it falls.

Elsa has just a split second to gather her skirts and run.

.

.

.

"No sign of Princess Anna, Your Highness."

"Then we are done here," Hans says grimly.

With the scent of copper still sharp in his nose, the goon's blood satisfyingly spilled by Hans personally (the other goon is presumed to have fallen to his death like the iced beast), Hans demands a blanket to wrap Elsa in. She's not regained consciousness. Elsa may control the forces of winter, but she won't be left laying helpless without modest comforts.

If the men thought Hans odd for his command, they remained silent to it as a blanket is provided for Hans to wrap Elsa in. Hans lifts her, his darling Snow Queen who is a waif of a little thing, and carries her out.

.

.

.

The ride back to Arendelle is pure torture.

Hans is entirely unprepared for the enormity of holding his soulmate in his lap, pressed to his soul mark for the trip back to Arendelle. He fights to keep his expression passive and neutral, as well as stop himself from nuzzling the crown of her head to take in her scent. Hans holds Sitron's reigns in his right hand, Elsa's head is supported and pressed against his left chest. She's wrapped and braced in his arm with his hand resting at her hip. His thumb won't stop stroking the concave slope of the bone there, heat searing through as he traces her shape much like how he soothed himself when he was younger - thumb touching her words etched across his heart. Hans has his cloak somewhat open and draped over her, allowing him to tuck her as close as possible while not drawing attention.

Or so Hans believes.

Talk he catches from the other riders is that perhaps Princess Anna has returned to Arendelle. That Hans will convince the Queen to end this winter, bring back summer...

.

.

.

"That _monster_ is a threat to Arendelle," the Duke of Weselton calls out, voice thick with disgust as Hans carries Queen Elsa up the stairs to the East Wing of the Arendelle castle. Hans is following the head housekeeper to what he was told was Elsa's private chambers. The housekeeper wears a look of great unease as the idiot Duke raves on, "You cannot leave the Evil Queen unrestrained and ready to kill us all!"

Mumbled agreement comes from those around the Duke. It would seem during Hans' absence, fear has become the enemy.

"What would you have me do?" Hans is truthfully too overwhelmed to think properly. He turns, bared teeth as he says as calmly as he can manage, "I couldn't leave her there to die atop a mountain."

Regret seems to hang in the air from the Arendelle staff.

"Would you rather her chained? In the dungeons?" Hans offers in disbelief.

The Duke sneers, "Yes."


	8. The Revelation in Your Skin

_Get up._

Elsa's eyes blink open in the darkness, blearily and failing to process what they see at the mental command. Elsa's arms lay heavily, like lead, and her hands stiff. There is an odor hanging in the air that brings lucidity to her - dank and stagnant and she knows that smell for she feared it as a child. Elsa thinks of frozen gloves, gloves failing to contain her curse and that smell is where Papa had her safeties placed; iron manacles made specifically for her should her powers ever truly get out of control. Last she knew, they were kept in the dungeon.

Specifically, _her_ dungeon.

All that is still processing as Elsa staggers up on unsteady feet, her head throbbing. Her stomach offers a nauseous roil (perhaps the smell, perhaps the head injury) as she rushes to the barred window overlooking the frozen wasteland that is where her fjord should be, ice-bound and damaged ships littering the surface. Snow continues to fall, further burying her kingdom.

Elsa is jarred to a halt by the iron manacles fastened to her hands, chained to the wall like a dog. She considers them briefly, long enough to reposition herself to get a better glance out the window, iron dragging and clanking. It echoes terribly in the stone room.

"What have I done?" Elsa gasps, bile crawling up her throat because _oh, no._ There is an eternal winter, everywhere and she's been returned to Arendelle.

 _Why?_ Why wouldn't Hans just leave her be? _Alone_ \- where she can't hurt anyone _?_

Elsa doesn't hear Hans come in, rather she _feels_ him entering the wretched space and closing the distance. Her chin lifts over her shoulder, and he's there.

He's brought a lamp with him, it glows softly to blur his edges, and he looks so handsome and somehow _small_. Powerless. His posture is nothing like what she's seen of him during their previous interactions, and while he may be without a proper coat for warmth, Elsa suspects that is not the reason for his wilted shoulders.

He looks guilty.

Instantly she's angry, "Why did you bring me here?"

"I couldn't just let them kill you," Hans says pained, in way of explanation.

 _Yes, you could. You should have,_ Elsa almost says.

Instead, "But I'm a danger to Arendelle." A pause and Elsa's anger is rekindled, this is his fault she decides. She throws at him, "Get Anna."

"Anna has not returned," Hans says carefully, with confusion.

Elsa glances back out at the storm, Anna's trapped out there and Elsa's worried and foolishly expecting to have found the storm suddenly letting up because Anna...poor Anna. It's all a horrible nightmare, one which Elsa desperately wants to end. If she had just been a good girl - conceal, don't feel - just put on a show and let Anna love Hans like she had wanted to, like Hans had wanted to -

It comes like a stake through her heart - Hans implores, "If you would just stop the winter, bring back summer...please."

 _No. No, no, no...no!_

Elsa meets his eyes, desperately, because _no_. Not now. _Please not now._

Her soulmate's words offered such hope to her for all those years, like a beacon in the darkness that she only need to trust and believe that love would find her and she'd have control of the curse - it was all just a lie.

Elsa's eyes prickle with heat, as does her soul mark. Something like misplaced euphoria tries to unfurl in her chest, defying all logic. Elsa chokes back a sob, smothering it, wondering if she's already spoken the words surely burned to Hans flesh. The words of his mark.

"Don't you see...I can't," is all Elsa can say, all she can sincerely manage. It lands heavily. She watches the weight of her words settle over Hans.

She knows instantly what is written on his skin. It practically sings to her. Her eyes fix to his chest, and she's certain her words are scribed stark and permanent across his heart.

It doesn't matter. She won't make Hans reject her, force him to choose. He simply can have Anna. He can have the happiness he wanted, just. He needs to be _safe_.

"You have to tell them to let me go." Elsa begs, raising her shackles between them. _Just grant this one thing._

Hans looks trapped in swirling thoughts, attempting to process what she's just said. Evidently it is a futile endeavor because he blinks, stiffens with a frown, "I will do what I can."

Elsa stands helpless, watching as her soulmate turns his back on her, heading silently for the heavy door of the dungeon. Her heart shatters and she sobs, achingly breathless, studying her awful hands bound tight in iron. Frost begins to paint fractals over the metal, slowly -

Then Elsa startles because Hans' hands are on hers, a tiny key twisting in the locks and before Elsa can do anything more than stare stupidly at him the iron manacles are discarded and clamoring to the stone floor. Her hands are captured in his, bare (wasn't he wearing gloves?), and the most glorious heat courses almost viciously through her before she can realize how dangerous she is and she shouldn't touch him.

There is a caught-back moan at the enormity and exquisite pleasure that being skin to skin and held by Hans brings, like the heavens have finally aligned and world is bathed in warmth. Elsa is certain she wears a most ridiculous expression, she wants to curl herself into him and why did she think she could choose any course of action that would deny her this? Deny her him? Her soulmate? It's like she's cursed, but for an entirely different reason.

Hans is trembling, like he's just as overwhelmed as her, "Forgive me, my heart? I've been so lost in the dark, blinded by selfish ambitions - trying to fill the void meant for you."

Elsa blinks, "I - void?"

Hans breathes a shaky laugh, nervously, all the while restlessly caressing her dangerous hands resting in his.

She should really demand he let go. (She doesn't.)

Hans' lips curl in self-depreciation, "Words fail me. What I mean to say is that I ached to find you, my darling - my life, and I callused over any semblance of humanity I may have retained over the years. Disappointment festered. I grew cold, loosing hope. Please, my heart? Forgive me?"

"Yes. But," Elsa starts with a frown, of course she's no choice but to forgive him (there must be some sort of grace with this curse of a soulmate). She's unsure how to articulate that although she believes Hans to be her match, there is mistrust of what's occurred, "Anna? She - soulmate..."

Hans has released Elsa's hands in favor of frantically working off the layers of garments covering his chest. He's wasted no time, simply dropping the offending fabric to the cold, damp ground to be discarded with the iron shackles.

Elsa's eyes blow wide. She is suddenly blushing madly, as soon as she's processed the fact he is undressing because _oh my_ and there is an inappropriately attired man before her, "Hans! What in the world - "

The rest of her words die on her tongue because there it is. Across his heart is her hand, and her words, _Don't you see...I can't._

There's your proof, she thinks stupidly.

"I was born with it. You were always meant for me, always."

Clearly he's right. Elsa distantly wonders how much more trouble she could get herself into right now should she reveal her mark to him. Her mind is stuck, like sap in winter on that thought as her blush burns brighter, contemplating raising her icy gown up to reveal his hand on her hip.

Before Elsa manages to settle on anything, Hans has captured one of her hands so softly, twisting it gently at the wrist to press reverently to his soul mark while he wraps her in his other arm.

He kisses her.

Of all the quiet fantasies Elsa had imagined as a girl coming of age and curious of what it would be like to be kissed by her soulmate, none of them held a candle to what it is _truly_ like.

Elsa decides it is like a fairy story. It is divine, glorious - so great as to render resistance or opposition useless - Elsa forgets her magic, forgets her curse, forgets the circumstances of being united with Hans, forgets the frozen wasteland of Arendelle. All she knows are his mouth - lips soft and warm, his large hands, warm and caressing at her back and holding her in place (as if she has somewhere else to be), her own fingers curled at his chest and pressed to _her_ words, her hand in the fine hair at his nape - his hair is like silk and feels wonderful in her fingers. His kisses are so insistent and gentle she smiles, ridiculously.

Hans pauses with her happiness, a pleased and nervous giggle escaping him as he drifts back from her by about half an inch, still close enough to share her air but honestly too far away.

 _My forever_ , Elsa thinks.

Hans shifts them enough to study her in his arms. It is all Elsa can do to remain upright and map her words on his flesh with the pad of a finger. Her cheeks ache with her smile.

"My heart," Elsa whispers. She likes that endearment Hans has used.

Hans' expression suddenly shifts, dumbfounded, as green eyes catch the window to the fjord. " _Wow_."

Elsa's chin drifts lazily over her shoulder to see what has Hans' attention and her eyes go wide as she thinks _snow_.

But not.

It's her snow, logically. The kingdom is locked in the stuff but it's now glittering shades of blue and silver and shifting shape and floating in the wrong direction.

" _Wow_ ," Elsa echoes.

Elsa is suddenly fourteen - it's the dead of night and her soulmate's words are fresh and newly charred along her hip and the hoarfrost which coated her bedchamber in rime is sparkling and melting away, lifting in the air to dissolve back into its potential.

" _Oh!"_ Elsa breathes in revelation; truthfully a revelation in his skin as the air is knocked from her and she's pushing away from Hans and running to the window.

Elsa presses a hand to the glass and the snow outside on the fjord aligns with it - awaiting her command.

Her laugh is astonished, "I'm - my ice!"

"How are you doing that?" Hans says in amazement.

Hans has followed and behind her, a solid mass grounding her euphoria and reminding her how real this all is. His hands find purchase at her hips, his fingers pressed to her soul mark and magic seems to course through her with the sole purpose of torturing her with desire.

"I don't know, my heart," She offers a breathy laugh, ice dissipating to wherever it came from, "but you're distracting me."

"Well then," Hans chuckles, deviously, like he knows exactly what he's doing to her, and presses his smile to the slope of her neck. "I suppose I should leave you to clean up your mess so we can get back to living happily ever after?" He makes no motion to move.

Elsa splays her fingers wide, experimentally. More snow and ice fall under her control and disappears in the breeze. Elsa smiles and raises her chin. Hans presses a kiss to her jaw, sending _fire_ through her veins.

"You should take a few steps back, my heart." Elsa says, cheekily. Her heart is warm and full. "We're not quite there, yet."


	9. Get the Fiancé out of the way

"I don't have a skull. Or bones," Olaf interjects himself into Kristoff and Anna's conversation about the bump on Kristoff's head after they finish their kiss. "Or a soul mark from a true love." He pauses looking over himself very carefully, "I think."

He looks to Sven, "Do I?"

Sven shakes his head, then makes a go at snatching Olaf's carrot nose once more.

"So..." Kristoff says timidly. He's looking at Anna as though he wishes to make study of her face, lingering on each feature.

Anna smiles with a contented sigh, trying desperately to commit each and every tiny detail of this moment to memory. The importance of it is heavy upon her.

Kristoff has revealed his soul mark, her words in her hand and she's shown him hers to which he laughed delightedly and said it is his writing across her ankle (explaining rather embarrassed that he only knows how to print, formal penmanship was something he never learned having not had tutors or gone to school).

"Your words are so beautiful on my skin," Kristoff confessed. "I'm sorry mine is so plain."

Anna laughed, giggling she loved his little words, "They're yours. Of course they are perfect."

He's now staring at Anna, trying to prompt her to say something.

It should take a lot to overwhelm Anna into silence these days (today).

Really.

After all, her sister froze the kingdom solid and she got engaged to the wrong man. (But Hans said he was her soulmate, didn't he? Truthfully, Anna doesn't recall exactly - must have been the party talking, or the chocolate fondue clouding her mind.)

Once Anna had explained to her _actual_ soulmate the series of events leading up to that engagement debacle, there was the realization that slimy toad _tricked_ her. (It is not nice to pretend to be someone's true love.) Anna feels like such an embarrassment. A _fool_.

"Now what?" Kristoff asks. Again. Now.

"Now what?" Anna echos calmly, looking a bit dreamily in his gorgeous brown eyes, then panic starts to settle in because, "Now what!?"

"Oh!" Anna gasps, mittened hands pressed to her cheeks in horror. "What am I going to do? She threw me out! I can't go back to Arendelle with the weather like this." _Or with a new soulmate in tow_ , Anna bites back as she starts pacing, gesturing wildly as her gaze catches Kristoff who's just watching her so besottedly amused. She keeps going, because when Anna panics, more words always spew out of her mouth, "Then there's your ice business..."

"Don't worry about my ice business," Kristoff says reassuringly. He pauses, like something important just struck him. "Worry about... _wait_. Anna, you need help and bet I know who can help with this winter. Now, come on."

 _Hu?_

Well, yeah, she does need help but...

"Okay!" Olaf says brightly, following on cue. "Where are we going?"

Kristoff turns, throwing over his shoulder, "To see my friends."

It take a moment for Anna to process that Kristoff is walking away, Olaf and Sven trailing behind.

She grabs her skirts and trudges through the snow to catch up, "The love experts?" She sounds skeptical even to her own ears. Because what good would a love expert be _now_.

She's found her true love.

She doesn't need a love expert, except maybe to help her figure out how to get un-engaged without getting into a bigger mess, a mess which could be, correction - will be, an international _scandal_...the Princess of Arendelle calling off her whirlwind of an engagement to the youngest Prince of the Southern Isles for a nobody of a backwoods mountain man. (Except Kristoff is her true love, so of course Anna herself doesn't see it that way, but she understands how talk goes.)

All that is swirling around in her head, and she can't really say any of it out loud to Kristoff (can she?) so Anna just follows quietly behind everyone. She feels terrible about even thinking all of that, and can tell she's making Kristoff uneasy because he starts rambling on about his friends who are like a family to him, how they took he and Sven in as kids -

That's so sad. And wonderful of them.

"They did?" Anna says with a little awe and pity in her voice.

"Yeah. I don't want to scare you, they can be a little bit inappropriate...and loud...very loud...they're also stubborn at times, and a little overbearing." Kristoff huffs.

Anna momentarily had to stifle a laugh because Kristoff just described her _to a tee_ , but he must fail to make the connection because he is being so serious as he continues on, "And heavy. Really, really heavy. But they're fine...You'll get it. They mean well."

Anna touches his arm, halting the rambled speech, "They sound wonderful." He shouldn't be nervous with her. True love, right?

Kristoff rewards Anna with a smile so genuine, so full of emotion, then darts forward to steal a kiss from her suddenly. Anna doesn't have time to _kiss back_ before he's stepping away, blushing madly (wow is he wonderful), "Okay then."

Anna bites at her lip, contemplating pushing him into the nearest convenient (or inconvenient) surface (there is that tree right there, that would totally work) and kissing him senseless because _boy_ does she like it when he does that, when Kristoff is spreads his arms wide with a flourish, gesturing across the small clearing and announces, "Meet my family."

Anna's eyes sweep over the clearing. Nothing. There's nothing but rocks.

 _What?_

They must be hiding, in the nearby wooded areas?

Anna stands dumbfounded, eyes like saucers and fixed to her soulmate as he starts carrying on one-sided conversations with ROCKS.

Literally. He literally has ROCKS for friends.

They raised him. And the reindeer. (That thing with the reindeer is a little outside of nature's laws, but hey - Anna's not one to talk. She grew up talking to inanimate objects...but she never introduced them as _family_.)

"He's _c-r-a-z-y_ ," Olaf says in a staged whisper, "I'll distract them while you run."

Anna can't seem to tear her eyes away from the odd scene playing out before her, snowman greeting stones with a faux-friendly embrace and because even the reindeer is pouncing from rock to rock excitedly, eager tail wagging and awaiting one to _talk back?_

How is this going to ever play out in the Arendelle court? Surely soulmate or not, Anna will be declared _mad_ and locked away somewhere with Kristoff and the rocks, out of sight. Maybe it's better the castle remains with closed doors and locked gates...

Anna is trying to work out the logistics of future life with such contingencies in place when Olaf, who has been saying something nonsensical leans over and asks, "Why aren't you running?"

Excellent question.

 _He's my soulmate, which means he is my true love and I have to accept him unconditionally, so I have to figure out how to make this craziness work,_ seems a bit much to share with a magical snowman (no comment) so, "Okay...I'm just going to go..."

Okay - scratch the rocks because _holy moly_ they are alive and they start rolling and Anna's heart leaps into her throat, "Kristoff!"

TROLLS.

Her soulmate has a singing, dancing, mushroom and crystal wearing _TROLL_ family. No wonder a girl with an ice-crazy queen for a sister didn't throw him off in the least.

They (the trolls) gush lovingly over Anna, she thinks, aside from the fact she gets examined like prized cattle trying to fetch the highest price at market.

There are singing, dancing, little trolls showing off tricks - Kristoff trying to explain that yes, he's brought a girl and she's his true love but she's engaged to someone else...

The frivolity comes to a complete standstill. All eyes blink astonished at Anna.

She might have suddenly grown a second head, Anna thinks distantly.

"That a minor thing," Anna catches one of them say as the trolls huddle together, unnervingly. "This quote ' _engagement_ ' is a flex arrangement," says another, to which a small one adds, "By the way, I don't see no ring."

Then someone is singing about _getting_ _the fiancé out of the way and the whole thing will be fixed_ , and that is absolutely NOT okay. Kristoff is even declaring _enough_ , trying to wave-off whatever the trolls are up to. Anna fears whatever it is, it may be rather nefarious. Sure, Hans is a slimy toad for tricking her into thinking she was his soulmate, but she doesn't know how to feel about him being cursed by meddling trolls.

"Princess Anna," Anna hears her name and title called, looking behind her as Kristoff is saying with immense relief, "Grand Pabbie."

The old troll seems _familiar_. Like...like the one from her dreams when she's been kissed by a troll and gets her blonde streak of hair. Anna suddenly gets this awful sense of déjà vu as Grand Pabbie takes her hand.

"Arendelle is in danger," the old troll says heavily. "There is ice, put there by your sister. If not removed, all of Arendelle will freeze solid, forever."

Anna can't help but think she already knew that.

"So remove it, Grand Pabbie," Kristoff says.

"I can't, I am not powerful enough any longer." Grand Pabbie says and then to Anna, "It is as if your sister suffers from a frozen heart. Only an act of true love can thaw this."

"An act of true love?" Anna asks, because _what?_

"A true love's kiss, perhaps?" A troll offers, the very maternal one - Kristoff's troll mother. It prompts a kissing-fest among the other trolls.

Kristoff leans in close to Anna and she knows he's going to try and kiss her, following suit of the trolls, but this is _serious_ \- all of Arendelle is going to die because of her.

Anna whispers aghast, "But Elsa has no true love. She doesn't have a soul mark."

Kristoff pauses, concern etched in his brow. "There must be something other than a true love's kiss. Another act of true love?"

"Such as from a sister," Grand Pabbie says. "You must go to her, Anna. Your sister, and your people, are in danger."

"Pull us out, Sven," Kristoff calls. He wraps an arm around Anna, holding her close as he is lifted out of the troll-hole. "We're going back to Elsa's ice palace."

OoooOoooOoooO

"She's not here!" Anna gasps in horror.

At first it was encouraging that Marshmallow was absent, no longer serving as sentry over the front door. Now, not so much.

They've spent the last thirty minutes searching everywhere, looking at the destruction to the iced fortress, the evidence of a terrible battle. There is blood on the icy floor of a what Anna would describe as a ballroom, an enormous shattered chandelier laying in ruin. The sight of the frozen blood sends chills up Anna's spine and a sickening feeling in her gut.

"Elsa?" Anna calls out again, heartbroken.

"What happened here?" Kristoff says, worried. "Who could have done this?"

Anna blood runs cold, "That weaselly Duke! He called Elsa a monster. He was shouting for her to be _stopped_."

Silence. Kristoff looks lost in thought.

"I'm sure that isn't Elsa's blood," Kristoff says finally, after a beat and attempting to reassure. He doesn't look convinced.

Olaf says, "You hesitated."

"No I didn't," Kristoff tries.

Anna wraps arms around herself, turning away from the scene, and starting toward the staircase, "Maybe it isn't."

Olaf is beside her instantly, wrapping Anna's legs into a hug. "That's the spirit! Hey, maybe Elsa went back home."

"Maybe." Anna is skeptical, but with little else to cling to, she has to go with Elsa went home.

They slip silently out, careful not to disturb any of the damage. Anna's eyes are fixed down, and on her boots buried in snow as she wonders how this all went so _wrong_.

If she had just been less impulsive, less desperate to change her fate, they wouldn't be in this mess.

"Marshmallow!" Olaf calls out, running off into the forested trees. "Come on, guys! Marshmallow is hurt! He needs our help!"

Anna can't believe she feels sorry for the abominable snow beast, but as they stumble upon him, she does.

He's whimpering, calling Olaf his big brother.

Marshmallow limps terribly, obviously distraught over his missing mistress as well, "Bad man hurt Marshmallow. Take Queen."

Kristoff frowns, "Bad man? The weasel Duke?"

Marshmallow lumbers back up the staircase to the palace, slowly, seeming hell-bent on getting back inside. He's shaking his head. He says with defeat, "Prince. On steed."

Anna's eyes shoot wide, "Hans?"

"Yes. Bad man."

* * *

 **A/N: It is subtle, and many reviewers have caught it, but there is a change in this fic from canon that Anna was not struck with Elsa's magic, freezing her heart. Truthfully, even if she had been, as soon as Kristoff kisses her in the earlier chapter, her heart would have thawed before ever realizing what happened.**

 **And I don't know why Marshmallow calling Hans "bad man" seems canon, perhaps because I've read too many fics where other authors declare this!**


	10. Conspiring with the Wicked Sorceress

"I can't thaw more than this right now because I can't see what I'm doing." Elsa says, frustrated. Elsa stands still, staring out the dungeon window with her back to Hans, tension holding her spine straight.

Her voice hints at what Hans can only describe as shame, "I don't entirely trust myself not to do more harm than good with the thaw. I need to be outside. To be able to watch what happens."

Hans is unsure what response from him is needed. He'll not allow her to be held captive in the dungeons. Surely she realizes that. He offers a hum of affirmation.

Elsa remains quiet, although he hears contentment in her breath as he watches her. Or maybe that's him. (It is likely both of them, perfectly matched, rabbit-hearted fools that they are.)

Hans' heart is still unsteady with it as he finishes straightening his clothing out once more, having done something useful with himself when Elsa demanded he _back up_.

He runs a gloved hand over his jacket sleeve to smooth down the wool and adjusts the linen cuff of his shirt. Once satisfied, his hand finds its way to his chest, resting there. It takes a moment to catch his thumb rubbing against the place where he knows the mark is.

He drops it, folding hands neatly behind his back, and waits.

It leaves him thinking of his soul mark now hidden once more under all the layers, and of the blissful euphoria he felt when Elsa spoke her words aloud; an emotion entirely incongruent with the tragedy of the moment.

So he had asked her for something she believed impossible, like a fairy wish. For that there is an _I told you so_ from his eight-year-old self, daydreaming of what it is he asks the gross girl who is supposed to be his true love, rattling around on his tongue. It is rather childish of him, but Hans adores that she was so horribly wrong and that _she_ _can_.

(Eight-year-old Hans enjoyed _gloating_ , a bit too much.)

He swallows it down.

Elsa drops her hands to her side, and Hans considers the gentle curl of her fingers as they fall, relaxed. It was indescribable how it felt to have her hand pressed to those words hastily etched to his heart - almost incensed with passion for he couldn't stop himself from stealing her breath away with a true love's first kiss. He could no more control the sun than stop himself in that moment. The moment that unlocked whatever it was Elsa needed to reverse her magic like a revelation.

Hans still wants to see her mark, see his hand on her skin like proof of possession, but she's not offered and he won't ask. He reminds himself seeing isn't always believing. This whole soulmate thing must have an element of blind faith to it, Hans muses.

 _Patience, then._

Elsa turns suddenly from her study of the sparkling blue waters of the fjord and the wooden ships now bobbing proudly, freed of ice. A proud little smile plays at her mouth and Hans is dizzy with it, scattered, so much in love with this woman that it feels like the universe's balance must certainly catch-up with him, with _them_ , eventually; or maybe not.

"It's absurd. I shouldn't..." Elsa says, pink hue staining her cheeks quite fetchingly "... _want_ to bask fully in your sight. I shouldn't feel like my heart is...complete, just simply being in your presence. I shouldn't _want_ to be kissed."

Elsa comes before him, sensual sway of hips that is likely unintentional and driving his mad, and stops just within his reach. She starts and fails, wets her lips as nervous eyes dart to his chest, to his soul mark, then tries, "I want hold up here with you, foolishly. Forever? I've gone mad."

"As have I, my heart." Hans reassures. It must be this sense of completion, finally being whole, a soulmate brings.

She confesses, "I fear touch because my ice tends to uncontrollably paint the surface of whatever it is I have in my hand."

It strikes Hans _that_ is the reason for her penmanship, and he fights the twitch of a smile, "Such as a pen?"

Elsa looks positively mortified, "Sometimes I can't get the pen from the pot before the ink freezes."

A laugh bubbles up, one he holds back.

Hans knows it is inappropriate to delight in such knowledge, to finally have understanding of a lifelong mystery to him. So there wasn't any physical reason her words to be written rather atrociously across his heart, but a magical one. His pleasure is even more inappropriate when it seems to pain Elsa to admit such a thing. Hans adds, "It can't be that bad."

"Yes. Even whatever is underfoot, or pressed to me." Elsa whispers. Like a warning.

"You're not dangerous, if that's what you're getting at. And I have no reason to fear you." Hans says softly. Elsa looks at him with disbelief about, well, his disbelief regarding the uncontrollable ice or about finding her dangerous, so Hans adds, "You held me in your hands, in your arms all the while we kissed and I am quite unscathed."

Her breath hitches, adorably, as her blush burns brighter and he know immediately she is just as affected by whatever this soulmate thing is as him. It is somehow reassuring, so he teases, "Well, unscathed aside from the insane desire to do it again."

Her eyes are wide, fixed on his lips as hers part, almost in anticipation.

Although he knows he shouldn't, that they've tempted fate far too much already, he can't seem to remind his damn hands who's in control here before he's tangled gloved fingers into the sheer fabric of her cape to pull her into the cove of his body and until his lips are obliging Elsa's madness.

 _After all, we've not yet been interrupted_ , a traitorous little voice say. (And logically, she needs proof that he's not scared of her and he's quite safe for her to touch.)

Hans is certain a very questionable period of time has now passed since he first came to her in this dungeon cell. Someone should have come to check on him by now. Of course if they had, they'd have found him half-nude with a now freed culpable prisoner locked in a lover's embrace. Dubious circumstances, to say the least. Particularly as the current Regent of the kingdom locked in disaster and bridegroom of said culpable prisoner's own dear sister. The thought that someone _has checked_ , and possibly _seen_ , dashes some of the passion clouding his head.

It starts to twist him with worry.

Hans offers a reassuring squeeze to Elsa, breaking the kiss and resting his forehead to hers.

Eyes screwed shut he says, "I will take you before your council first, reinstate your authority and recognize you as proper ruler. Then you thaw the rest of Arendelle."

Elsa stiffens, "You're the Regent?" Evidently that bit of information Elsa somehow missed.

"Yes," Hans can't understand why it feels so underhanded to say so. "Anna left me in charge when she when after you."

Elsa says hotly, "You allowed Anna to charge off head-first, alone and ill-prepared?" Hans opens his eyes to find Elsa's dark with something akin to fury, pinning him in place, "Into a mercurial winter storm and after the _monster_ responsible for it?"

So true love doesn't prevent the ability to instantly anger at the other when they've done something stupid. Interesting. Elsa makes motion to put distance between them, pressing hands to his chest and giving a shove. "How could you? Anna is in danger, because of you."

"First off, you are not monster, and I won't tolerate such talk, even from you." Hans is firm. He'd offer a kiss for reassurance, but he doubts he'd remain ice-free for the attempt. "Secondly, I was not in my proper state of mind in that moment, having not only come to the realization you were my soulmate, but that you can conjure winter from your ethereal hands. Thirdly, Anna was so insistent that she'd be quick - catch up to you easily and talk with you. Bring you back to Arendelle and stop the winter. I made an egregious error, one which I despise. I am so sorry."

Elsa huffs, drawing breath to likely escalate this argument so Hans lifts his head to look at her properly as he implores, "If it is alright with you, may we finish arguing later about this? After you are restored to your throne and your kingdom unthawed?"

Elsa frowns, but has stopped trying to shove him away. She scrutinizes him silently, Hans caught under her icy gaze. He watches guilt settle back into her eyes, which he hates but at least it is a signal she's willing to consider logic. Be rational.

"Yes."

OoooOoooOoooO

"Prince Hans is conspiring with the wicked sorceress," The Duke of Weselton spits venomously at Hans.

Hans balls hands into fists, all but growls out, "Govern your tongue, sir, for you are treading on _dangerous_ ground."

The council has gathered in one of the libraries, one that stays warm(er) with it's large fireplace the front and that the dignitaries preferred to sit in, awaiting news regarding the Queen.

Hans has brought her with him. Elsa walked tall and proud beside him, but it felt as if she was facing down her execution.

The dreary light from open windows still manage to cut odd shadows across the Duke's exaggerated features. He looks like the village idiot, well spoken and well dressed, but clearly the idiot.

The Duke of Weselton spins on heeled boots to narrow eyes on the other men present, "What did I tell you? There is something dubious happening here!"

Hans can sense Elsa recoil in fear beside him, feel her unease exponentially multiplying. The rapid chill of air around her is also a clear sign. Fear must be her enemy when controlling her magic.

Truthfully, the Lords gathered look just as uneasily at Elsa as she does at them. The Spaniard shifts his weight in his seat, muttering something to the Frenchman beside him. Hans worries the foreigners, in particular, will follow the village idiot's ramblings and take-up pitchforks and torches.

"Queen Elsa is the rightful ruler of Arendelle," Hans says smoothly, like dogma, raising an authoritative hand and attempting to silence the Duke. "She has control of her magic, and will bring back summer. She's already thawed the fjord - "

The Duke continues to spew further allegations, tension rising palpably in the room. Before Hans can quiet the little bastard, the Duke interrupts with, "We know what you are after, Prince Hans. The fall of the kingdom of Arendelle and _we won't stand for it!"_ The Duke is almost frantic with his insistence. "You are after Arendelle's throne!"

There is murmured question from around the room.

Hans blinks, startled. Horrified. Because, well, he was - at one point. Now he's just after Arendelle's Queen, "What?"

"So you are unaware of what you've done?" One of the council members says carefully. A duke from one of the outer duchys of Arendelle, who it would be kind to say looks _archaic_.

"I - " Hans's mind can't catch the barbs that lie on the elder's question, lack of sleep and stress of the situation slowing his ability to remain nimble, mentally. It stops him from reflecting the image needed to maintain control.

"Enough." Elsa breaks her silence, unsurely, at Hans' side. Hans feels her cool hand curl around his arm, anchoring him to her. Bizarrely, it helps him shift the mask in place he needs.

"See! See that!? The evil seductress has enchanted the Prince!" The Duke gasps, boney finger aimed in accusation at how Elsa holds Hans, "I told you it was trustworthy- news of the torrid display witnessed by one of my men as the witch regained consciousness. She seduced her own sister's betrothed!"

Elsa utters, absolutely horrified, "No. It's not like that."

Hans can feel ice start to coat his jacket sleeve where Elsa's hands are clutching him tightly.

"Prince Hans," the heavy wooden door of the library groans open suddenly and the head steward, Kai, is barging into the chaos that Hans has clearly lost control of. Dignitaries rise from their seats. There are heads bowing.

Before Hans can turn, process what is happening, he catches the catty whispers of a few of the Lords and Hans realizes Kai is not alone. The Duke of Weselton smiles, eerily.

Hans' eyes catch what all the fuss is about at their same moment Elsa's voice cracks, "Anna!"


	11. A Fist of Fury

"Elsa can't unfreeze it," Anna says, and very confused. "She doesn't know how to."

"Then how else would you explain... _that?"_ Kristoff gestures towards the liquid water of the fjord, water now rippling currents. That has to be Elsa's doing.

Anna is silent as she studies the scene - they're charging madly towards the Arendelle castle and bareback on Sven, hooves striking harsh against the ice-coated cobblestone. It's a rough ride, but to Anna's credit she's not complained. They are almost there.

The fjord waters glug and crackle following the most bizarre phenomena Kristoff has yet to witness in life. For lack of a better way to explain - it was snowing, but just over the frozen fjord and in reverse, dissipating into the breeze like a gentle sigh.

It left behind a thawed fjord.

"Um. I - _oh no_." Anna's eyes are worried, "Maybe that _was_ Elsa's blood at the ice palace? What if she's hurt, and because of that her magic is weakened?"

 _Or maybe she's near death_ , Kristoff supplies mentality before he can stop himself. He won't bring himself to say aloud. Surely Anna has considered it, too.

"I don't know." Kristoff finally says. He won't offer false reassurance, especially when Anna could very well be right.

The peaceful sound the glugging fjord waters make is only evident as Sven comes to a halt at the stone archway of the castle wall, gates open and surprised folks clamoring towards the docks, and some with words of praise for the Queen for thawing her lands (well, waters). Overall there is cautious excitement regarding the ice-locked ships now freed and floating happily, completely unscathed from the damage the freeze may have inflicted upon them.

 _Very odd_.

Kristoff doesn't have time to linger on that fact.

(Except that once he had a small boat that been left unattended by an unapologetic, _former_ friend of his - it became ice-bound in a pond. Of course, water expands when it becomes solid, the larger volume occupied by the ice causing significant damage to the wood of the boat and resulting in it taking on water when thawed. Suffice it to say, the boat sank. The unapologetic idiot who left it in the pond in the first place never paid Kristoff back for the loss. Thus, _former_ friend.)

"Come on," Anna whines as she slips off Sven's back, offering a soft pat to the reindeer's side and a quiet _thank you_ , and starts towards the castle. She hesitates, looking up at Kristoff who has yet to dismount, "You're coming, right?"

"Ah..." Kristoff hadn't considered it. He glances around, "Shouldn't I just wait here?"

Anna rolls her eyes, "No way. You're coming with me."

Something about that should raise alarm. Actually, everything about that should raise alarm. A lowly ice harvester, grimy and unkept (he should have had a haircut last month, but forgot, a bath last week - again, forgot, and he's wearing what is likely at this point an odiferous, filthy animal hide - it's warm, but not right for high society)...and, well, he's well below Anna's station...is it okay to be walking beside her? Into the Arendelle _CASTLE_ , and to find the misplaced ruler of the kingdom who may or may not be in grave danger?

Then there's the little problem of Anna's _precious_ Prince Hans being here, too. Kristoff isn't looking forward to that confrontation. Mostly because he'll likely kill the jerk for what he did to Anna and then will face execution for the crime (toss-up between Arendelle or Hans' kingdom doing the honors).

Kristoff loves Anna far too much to do that to her. Something thorny takes root and painfully twists in his chest.

 _Ahhhhh -_ a resounding _NO._ He's not coming. He should just wait with the reindeer.

Kristoff must be wearing a strange expression because Anna laughs, _actually laughs_ , bright and clear like a bell when she takes his heavily gloved hand. "I know what you're thinking, and stop it. You're my match - my true love. You belong beside me, not waiting outside at the gate."

Anna beams with pride (foolishly, he thinks), practically luminous with it. Kristoff can't hold back the twist of lips or yield to what she wants as he sighs, "Are you sure? I don't want to make anything worse here."

Anna's hand wraps perfectly in his, like a reminder, a promise. "I'm sure."

OoooOoooOoooO

Kristoff is so not sure.

 _People will trick you. Curse you. Beat you. Every one of them's bad..._

The pretentious glances and crinkled nosed in distain from what are probably foreigners and the wealthy Arendelle elite lead him to believe this, to believe he was right. It's more than the usual discrimination he faces when he meets such men. It's likely because he has the audacity to walk along side their royalty. He should have just waited outside. It would have been fine.

By nature Kristoff is wary of the aristocracy, the men with their games and plots, angling for power and fortune and status. No integrity whatsoever. Particularly in business. He should know. Can't trust the lot of them.

"Princess Anna!"

An older couple, obviously staff worried sick and who serve the royal family directly given the familiarity they have as they call out to Anna, come rushing forward, "Thank goodness you are alright!"

The older fellow, who is probably head of staff here in the Arendelle castle, casts a look at Kristoff as Anna demands to be taken to Elsa, that if she has returned, or Prince Hans. It is a look that says, _I don't really want to know about what's going on here._

It's about then Kristoff realizes Anna is still holding his hand. He snaps it back, startling Anna off-balance.

 _Ugh._

Anna glares at him. He does not glare back (with enormous effort...should have waited outside).

But the man simply nods respectful, saying nothing to question Kristoff at Anna's side. In fact, he offers a small, kind smile to Kristoff and then with grave seriousness he says, "Prince Hans is in the east library, I believe updating the council regarding Her Majesty."

"Updating about Elsa? Why?" Anna pales, goes white as a sheet as the housekeeper wraps a blanket around Anna's shoulders, murmuring concerned about Anna being as cold as ice.

The housekeeper supplies, "Her Majesty was injured during an attempt to assassinate her."

"What?" Anna whispers, "Who...is she okay?" She's devastated and Kristoff wants nothing but to console her in the moment, but can't.

The head steward gestures Anna closer, eyes catching the nearby guards, "Talk is Prince Hans hasn't been himself since he left to go after you. That he is the one who shot the arrow that dropped an iced chandelier on Her Majesty, at her ice fortress she was found in. That's what caused her injuries. He brought her back from the North Mountain, and she has not regained consciousness yet. He's chained Queen Elsa in the dungeon."

"No!" Anna says, aghast. "He wouldn't - "

Kristoff's stomach sinks, because something about this Prince Hans suddenly not acting himself sounds suspiciously like being cursed _(cough)_ by trolls. _Damnit_. Meddlesome trolls only ever make things _worse_ , he decides.

"Anna," Kristoff says urgently and privately to her, before considering whether or not to add a _Princess (_ he's no good at this Highness and Majesty thing). "Um, what if my family actually _did_ cast a spell to _get the fiancé out of the way?_ I mean, we told them not to, but like I said before they can be really inappropriate and stubborn. Sudden changes in behavior sounds a little...magical."

"It is suspicious." Anna worries her lip. She must decide the same thing. Prince Hans has been cursed by trolls.

"Ma'am," Kai interrupts and unaware, "this way to Prince Hans."

OooOooOooO

Hans has never been so thankful for a complete disregard for protocol.

All he can do for long moments is stand bewildered and frozen as a smile spills with relief across Anna's face and she surges forward, at Elsa, pulling her into her arms.

"Elsa!" Anna cries out with sheer joy.

"Anna!" Elsa says with equal measure of disbelief and exultation, voice wet and like a prayer as her eyes well with tears, overwhelmed to see her sister. It is a reunion absolutely at odds with how Hans last saw the sisters together - Anna and the mean, nasty words publicly thrown at Elsa before she froze the kingdom.

Elsa has released the tight hold on her fear of touching others, finally able to embrace her beloved sister (it looks rather mechanical, truthfully...the methodical way Elsa carefully opens her arms then folds them around Anna, diligently...like she's seen the movement before, but unsure how to perform it herself). Despite that - love and forgiveness lift the moment, beautifully. Like a tangible example of grace and redemption.

Oddly, it warms Hans' heart. Or not so oddly, because one would have to be a heartless bastard not to appreciate it. Hans' next thought is something about serious doubts regarding any of his own blood, his brothers or family, ever welcome him home after such a situation, in such a loving manner.

Hans takes inventory of the room, noting the men appear as moved (or befuddled) as Hans feels. In truth, the Duke of Weselton looks so openly shocked to see Princess Anna embracing Elsa that he shuts up. Actually shuts up. His silence is truly glorious.

Hans takes advantage of the moment and demands the room cleared. The last thing he needs is an audience for his disastrous reunion with his affianced. There is a knotted pain of dread in his shoulders.

Evidently everyone is too confused as to what's going on to question if Hans actually has the authority to give such an order. Elsa is too busy sobbing uncontrollably, with immense relief, into Anna's shoulder, and Anna murmuring reassurance and apologies with eyes squeezed shut.

The room clears.

Hans hasn't been able to tear his gaze from the sisters and mentally bracing for the inevitable until a slight cough startles him, from somewhere by the closed door. He was sure they were alone now.

Hans snaps his chin up, immediately narrowing eyes at an indigenous looking savage of a man standing motionless and timid by the door. Hans curses silently the fact he is without his sword. He has a small knife at his belt (from sea-faring days - you never know when you may need to cut a line) and a dagger tucked tightly just along his boot leg, sheathed and available if necessary. The presence of the dagger is something to keep on one's person - he learned the hard way, years ago thanks to his brothers, that one should always be prepared to defend oneself or their charge. Hans bears a scar from Lars, across his shoulder for failing to do so one night.

Hans demands of the strange man, "Who are you? How did you get in here?" Hans then wonders if the native man may even understand what he's said.

The brute shifts to stand tall and wide, shoulders squaring with tension ticking his jaw. He remains quiet.

Must not speak the language, Hans surmises. Hans is clueless as the the tongue of the Laplanders, thus can't offer any help. He then realizes that this man must be who Anna hired to take her up the North Mountain - and probably is awaiting his payment.

"Step outside the room and wait, Her Highness will make arrangements for your payment shortly." Hans points to the door and motions for the Laplander to leave.

The man blinks, "What?"

Hans is so over this - the man must take Hans for a fool, pretending not to understand. How Anna got herself into this situation is beyond Hans, and really shouldn't surprise him, yet it does. "I said wait outside, sir."

"No," arms cross defiantly.

"Are you _mad_?" Hans says and absolutely bewildered because _what?_

Hans darts a glance to the sisters who finally realize they are not alone. Elsa looks at Hans with anxious guilt while Anna's eyes hint at controlled hatred, and at him. "Princess Anna, where did you find the brute? How much is he owed so payment can be made and he can be on his way?"

The precipice of motion is caught in the corner of Hans' eye, the savage taking a step forward and towards Hans, hands clinched and angered brow low.

Fists, then. (Hans does enjoy a good fisticuffs.)

The man must have no weapon on him. Hans is feeling lucky, taken on far worse than this man (defeating an abominable snow beast does something for one's machismo).

Hans doesn't see Anna's fist fly. He catches a streak of color in his peripheral vision as excruciating pain overwhelms him with a flash of white, and the world goes black.


	12. Sounds Like True Love to me

" _Elsa?"_

Hans cuts out, voice catching as he's laid out by Anna's fist. He goes down stiff and silent, apart from Elsa's name. No hissing, no spitting, no biting back. Just drops. Just takes it. He lands cadiwampus, limps askew on the rug, an arm thrown over his face.

"Hans!" Elsa goes entirely on edge as his name rips past her lips. Elsa tastes it. She doesn't hear it. Can't hear anything over the pounding rush of blood in her ears.

She scolds Anna under her breath, who looks entirely unapologetic as she grins, shaking off the lingering pain in her hand following the blow. Anna pulls herself tall, wearing a rueful look as her eyes cut to the Laplander.

The man whoops a gregarious laugh, "Remind me not to make you mad."

Anna smiles a little brighter.

Anna must have a fierce hand, or have wicked good aim, because Hans doesn't immediately get up. Dread quickly weights Elsa after still moments. _What if he's genuinely hurt? Did he hit his head when he fell?_

Elsa lacks any knowledge of the ministrations of a physician, and has never actually consoled the injured before, except that once: _Anna_. Except Anna. Her accident.

That realization tears her asunder. Genuinely. Frost threatens to crackle ominously, as if carving out her chest like a frozen ballroom with mountains of snow from her childhood, then Elsa is after him. She's a flurry of iced fabric cascading to the floor, gingerly arranging herself with slight relief that there is no immediate blood noted, and Hans is breathing.

Although she's not entirely sure of herself, Elsa fastidiously gathers her crumpled prince into her lap. Her hands are surprisingly steady as she pulls him close, conjuring a pad of soft, cold snowy-fluff to press to his nose and pointedly not hearing the protests from Anna.

Hans lets out a drawn out breath that likely contains some sort of curse Elsa's never actually heard someone say in her presence, something hardly audible, followed by, " _Ouch_."

"I don't care if he's been cursed by trolls," Anna is saying to the Laplander. Elsa recognizes the man from her ice palace and is truthfully caught off guard that he's here, in the library, with Anna. Hans was right, _why didn't he just wait outside?_

Anna continues on, all sea-salt and gale force winds, "He's done _mean_ things and he can't talk to you like that. Like he's better than you."

"Cool it, feisty pants," he says to Anna, "This approach didn't work so well for you the last time." It's something fond and amused. Something supportive. It's said with affection.

(It's wonderfully level-headed and rational.)

Elsa catalogs that in with other details she's gleamed thus far about what Anna's been up to. _(Anna had whispered she'd seen blood spilled on the floor of the ice palace and was terrified Elsa had been hurt or was now or worse was near death, then said how thankful she was that Elsa was alive and okay, and how much she loved her.)_

Elsa has to tuck that away for when she has the luxury to study it, because, "Cursed by _trolls_?"

Anna snaps her jaw shut, and looks _caught_. Like a child pilfering chocolate biscuits from the kitchen pantry before dinner, hand in the jar. Her eyes are wide, "Um..."

A sharp breath and Anna's eyes dart to the Laplander and back to where Hans lays in Elsa's arms. "I went to the trolls that live in the valley to help find a way for you to stop this winter, which by the way, we have to find you an act of true love - if you had a soulmate it would be easier but I'm your sister and I love you more than life itself so I can help, I think - because Arendelle is freezing, totally my fault since I made you so upset that your heart has gone cold and frozen or something and if we don't thaw it then Arendelle will stay frozen forever." Anna is gesturing madly as she paces a path between two rugs, boots knocking a rhythm that matches her ramblings, "I shouldn't have been so impulsive about, well, everything and the trolls may or may not have said or sung something that may or may not of cursed Hans." Anna deflates, literally, shoulders wilting as her fingers become incredibly interesting, "To get him out of the way."

The room goes still. As still as a mouse.

"What was that?" Elsa only caught bits of Anna's rushed explanation. It made little sense. _Cursed?_

"What was that?" Hans echos.

Hans is no help. He's still thoroughly dazed, and only partly aware of his existence for a too long moment. He blinks green blearily up at Elsa, dragging fingers clumsily up her form to graze her cheek, "My Heart?"

"Yes?"

 _Oh, he looks so lost_ , Elsa thinks as she drops her gaze to him. She nods. Anna doesn't know yet - about them - how is she to do this? Explain? _How bad does this look_ , Elsa thinks guiltily, _offering comfort and affection to Anna's possibly cursed affianced?_

It's all too overwhelming, but Elsa refuses to cry.

 _NO_.

She's done with the stupid helplessness. The loss of control. She will not cry because she's more powerful than that, more powerful that anyone here and anyone she's ever known or can imagine and she's queen and this is her fate. She's not wrong for wanting it. She's just not sure if she's brave enough to take it, now that it's presented itself to her, but she _has_ to be, because she wants it with an intensity that defies logic. More than the breath she draws.

Hans says, "I'm fairly certain I've not been cursed by trolls, but I have done something that warrants begging forgiveness. I was willing to refuse you, in exchange for a position of power beside Anna. Selfish ambition took hold of my head and persuaded. It was wrong. _Please_."

"Yes - stop. Hans, I already have forgiven you."

"You are everything I ever quietly wanted, my heart, but was not brave enough, was not _worthy_ enough, to have."

"You are," Elsa says and like that her confidence firms, resolving not to fight the inevitable. Bring it on.

Elsa dusts her lips, fleetingly, to his temple as he proceeds to search out her wrist to hold gently. Gloved fingers wrap lovingly around the boney prominence.

Anna is now protesting, vigorously.

Elsa refuses to acknowledge that just yet. Instead, Elsa studied Hans as he recenters himself. He's not bleeding from his nose as Elsa had initially anticipated and his mouth is unscathed.

(She gets stuck on his mouth, the ghost of it on her lips.) She has to shake it off.

For all her power, by right of birth and by right of magic, Elsa is grossly unprepared to soothe over whatever frayed tempers there are festering here with Anna. It's a skill she's not had purpose for living in isolation. She's not sure what to call that skill, but Hans has it in buckets. In spades. He _oozes_ it.

 _It's being charming_ , she decides.

"I can't do this without you," Elsa confesses into the fringe of Hans' hair, despite Anna's continued confused protests. Elsa tries to call upon a smile for him, "Pull yourself together and be charming."

Elsa's lips twist as her words have the desired effect, Hans huffs a half-laugh and takes the iced pad from her hand, gingerly assessing the current state of his nose. It appears as it should, although there is likely the start of a bruise welling under his left eye.

"Elsa! What are you doing? He tried to kill you! He left you chained in the dungeons." Anna presses and darker than before - it's worried and almost frantic. "He's _dangerous_."

Hans has managed to rise, spine straight and hand angled and offering to Elsa. She accepts, but once she's arisen and beside him, she doesn't let go. She doesn't step away. She wraps her arm in his, twining fingers, and looks at her sister.

And because he did, but not exactly (try to kill her), and maybe he is, but Elsa doesn't believe it (dangerous...but so is she), Elsa allows, "Yes."

A breath, and Anna stills herself. She looks at Elsa like she's whittling away the truth. Anna wets her lips, "Why are you defending him? He lied to me about being my soulmate. That man is a nothing but a no-good cad and a fraud and - "

"Hans is my soulmate, Anna." It should be the only clarification Anna needs, so Elsa breathes, steps off the edge, "At fourteen his words etched into my skin in the dark of night."

Anna looks bewildered, caught back breath of protest. She looks like she's going to argue so Elsa says quietly, " _If you would just stop the winter and bring back summer...please_. Across my hip."

Hans grazes fingers intimately over her arm, the caress sending shivers like anticipation up her spine, _"Don't you see...I can't."_ Hans' voice is complex - helplessly besotted and there is an I-told-you-so hiding in it. So different than her despair of the moment when she actually said those words to him.

"Oh." Anna says dumbly.

In the painful quiet that remains, Elsa watches as Anna pieces it all together. The Laplander comes beside her, and stops. He doesn't look at Hans, or Elsa. His eyes are entirely fixed on Anna.

Elsa's heart is thrumming, anxious and worried and then Anna manages, "When...how long have you know?" Anna's eyes meet Elsa's. They are glistening with regret.

Elsa can't bring herself to say anything more than, "The party."

Then a beat, "Before I set of an eternal winter, everywhere."

Elsa has never felt so embarrassed, feeling like nothing but a foolish, love-struck school girl without a prudent or rational bone in her body.

"I'm sorry," comes in a rush from Anna, like a gasped breath. "You tried to tell me, didn't you? You tried to tell me then and I didn't let you have the chance."

Elsa nods.

In stark contrast, Anna's voice goes colder as she looks to Hans, "And you?"

"When you presented me to her." Hans clears his throat. Elsa can feel the tension in his posture, despite how tenderly he holds her arm to him. "I. I - ," he stumbles, apologetic. Forlorn. " - didn't know until then. I was born with my mark, and had lost hope of ever finding my match. I just wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help rule Arendelle, so when the opportunity presented, I took it. I'm so sorry for lying to you, Anna."

Although an impossibility, Hans leans closer to Elsa. Her skin practically singing to be wrapped in his arms. He must feel it too, because he proceeds to do just that, into his chest, tucking her beside where Elsa knows his mark resides.

Elsa waits for it all to end.

Then Anna does the impossible. She smiles, eyes alight with excitement and breathes a laugh. Breathes forgiveness, "The fjord! Your act of true love? It was Hans?"

"Of course!" Elsa's eyes snap open. She had not thought of it like that, "Love will thaw... _love_."

Anna laughs, takes the hand of the Laplander, "Come on, Elsa! You have to thaw the rest of Arendelle."

"Oh." Anna pauses, "And this is Kristoff Bjorgman. He's an ice harvester. His favorite food is carrots, best friend's name is Sven, and wears a size 46 shoe. I've had a meal with him, sort of, and although I can't stand the way he eats, at least he doesn't pick his nose. And eat it."

"Hm." Hans narrows eyes at Kristoff in study as he whispers to Elsa, "Sounds like true love."


	13. Happily Ever After

Elsa stands haloed in the glare of summer sun luminously behind her. She's all sorts of soft edges in the too-bright light, eyes a vibrant blue and cheeks flushed with warmth. Resplendent with a backdrop of a thawed Arendelle.

The sight makes Hans' heart flutter traitorously when she meets his gaze. There is uncertainty in it. Hans frowns slightly.

"What now?" Elsa says under her breath.

"If I'm not mistaken," Hans says to Elsa, mouth curling with a smile like a sleepy tiger showing his teeth. He can sense her worry. The rush of confidence she found earlier has been lost, or perhaps it was the thrill of hope that's gone. So he gives her something to distract, "This is the part where we live happily ever after, my heart."

Hans watches as Elsa's eyes shift with exasperation and guilt in equal measure over the crowded square, catching on her sister and the brute with a reindeer along the way. And the bizarre talking snowman with his own personal flurry.

Hans makes note to talk later with Elsa about having better restraint on her whims to create living snow creatures. He doesn't wish to be father to such things.

She wears a sad twist of lips, "We're still not quite there. I have much more to restore than simply the summer."

Hans was hoping for at least a smile, like the last time he uttered his absurd fairy story ending to her. Although she's absolutely right. There is so much more to be done.

"Ah. Well then." Hans pulls closer, still a respectable distance but he can't resist her gravity, and so he whispers what looks like advice from an advisor but is all smoke and caramel, into Elsa's ear, "Now it is time for fealty and destiny, and to make use of spies and secrets. Spin what has happened into something like truth."

Elsa sighs something Hans can't quite make out. It's less than thrilled. Something about his evident proclivity for mendacity.

"Come now. You'll make an excellent player, like you were born to it. Just follow my lead."

This is the best part of politics, the intrigues needed to carefully craft the proper image of a ruler, Hans thinks. Hold back the controversial and offer up as truth the pleasant twist of it. Hans suspects Elsa has spent a life isolated, simply concealing _ALL_ of herself, thus at immense disadvantage when it comes to such things.

He has not.

Elsa's kingdom is now thawed and her people left standing in the blissful warmth of summer sun wondering, _what now?_ (Same thing Elsa is wondering.) They stand gathered on the high point of square, where Elsa could see Arendelle ' _properly_ ' from the village to the mountains, watching as her magic lifted the ice and snow to dissolve back to where ever it is it comes from _._ The entire scene was enchanting.

"My own people look at me as if trying to make out if or if not I am the evil queen toying with them." Elsa vents, "You know. Before they meet their ultimate demise."

Hans is willing to concede that. The locals do look a bit apprehensive. But he was here, boots-on-ground if you will, during the entire disaster. At their side. He kept them safe, ensured their needs were met - even the lowest of them, the poorest. He was the face of the Crown to all, not just the dignitaries.

 _He was the hero who saved Arendelle from destruction._

So he stands by Elsa now, prompting her to think strategically, "So how do you change that perception?"

Elsa clearly is unsure. She looks a breath away from simply yelling _I'm terribly sorry_ at the gathered crowd and turning tail to run and seclude herself. The longer she ponders her response, the nearer to the point of fretful tears she gets.

Hans can't have that. She can't have that. (Later he will realize it will never again be 'he', but only ever 'she', and if very, very lucky, 'they'.)

"Nothing was damaged. Even the delicate flora appear just as it should." Elsa finally manages to say, gesturing towards a window box filled with bulb flowers bright and in bloom, vibrant purples and reds and strangely free from frostbite. Like nothing ever happened.

 _Very curious._

"There was no harm done, but I can't just tell everyone the bloody _truth_ \- think of the scandal. Okay, so the secret of my magic is out, but how volatile will I appear? Honestly. The princess' refused affianced flung himself into the arms of that ice-witch-of-a-queen and now all is well? Ridiculous! I'm unable to mend this." Elsa is so serious, too.

"Untrue." Hans says, trying not to smile too brightly at the _flung himself_ remark. Also, Elsa obstinately rejecting the idea that it isn't all for not is very amusing. This is absolutely salvageable.

Elsa glares at him like he's being daft, on purpose.

"Just think what is needed now, which buys time for later."

Elsa simply stares at him.

"May I?" Hans asks.

To his surprise Elsa nods, albeit confused.

Hans would kiss her now for ignoring her mistrust and following his led if it wouldn't make everything so much worse. So instead his royal mask slips into place, something calm and kind and fixed firmly in a breath. Hans is pleased it triggers Elsa's to fall right into place, faint pull of a pleased smile, studying him.

Hans turns to the people gathered, offering a respectful nod to the councilmen and dignitaries watching from a balcony above who supported him as the Regent.

With an open hand and towards Elsa he presents, "Her eminence, Queen Elsa, the Snow Queen of Arendelle." Hans takes two steps forward like an actor into the spotlight, eyes smoothly scanning the crowd of people who seem to hang in his every word as hushed awe falls over them. He is sincere with every word, "Protector. Sovereign guardian. Anointed by the hand of God. "

Hans turns in step, pivoting to face Elsa, "My tongue cannot worthily praise you. I say: all hail, Queen Elsa of Arendelle!"

Sweeping a leg back and coming to one knee, head bowed in reference, Hans waits long moments for the roaring cheers to quiet enough for him to be heard once more.

As the crowd quiets he declares, "My Queen, it is you alone who is exalted."

It stirs the hearts and voices once more, people erupting again, "Long live the Queen!"

The outcry of praises and celebrations from those gathered is deafening. Hans smiles as he lifts his chin, catches sight of Anna knelt before Elsa. The brute, who Hans would bet life on is Anna's true soulmate, is on the fringe of the crowd now and knelt in loyalty. Hans offers a little prayer for how much _neater_ that will make everything if he is right.

Elsa does beautifully - plays her part with a demure smile and proudly raised chin. She ducks it humbly before raising a hand to quiet the crowd, offering apology for the sudden winter and reassurance no harm was meant, and that she shall defend Arendelle as her protector until her last breath. Her speech is simple, it cuts across the people as it needs to. Plainly. Perfectly.

The forgiveness and hope that fills the air is breathtaking.

Anna beams a proud grin at her sister. Anna is such a representative of her people, Hans muses. So quick to forgive and see the potential the future holds.

"Prince Hans." Elsa motions to Hans, cueing all to rise. Anna manages not to scowl or narrow her eyes.

"Arendelle is eternally indebted to you for your exceptional leadership and overwhelming compassion during these past days. Without your wisdom and calm head, I fear Arendelle would not be as it is today. I am eternally grateful, and I humbly thank you for your service. Arendelle looks forward to what the future may hold for her, built from such a foundation and, if amenable, your continued support."

And like that, Elsa publicly opens the door to something more for Hans. Not a mention of his failed engagement, which truthfully only a few aristocracy may even know of - of his (supposed) ruse to claim power which was declared by the Duke of Weselton. Just simple acknowledgement of the beneficence of his actions and invitation to stay in Arendelle as an advisor.

He wonders if Elsa realizes entirely how her proclamation looks. It looks like a veiled invitation to court her. The next steps in his intrigues begin to sketch vaguely out in his head because he had fleetingly wondered if he was to be doomed to lurk in a most unprincely manner about the Arendelle castle for all eternity, attempting to endear himself to others enough to stay near Elsa. This solves that little dilemma.

"'T'was an honor, my Queen. Arendelle holds a very special place in my heart. She will always be dear to me and I shall strive to bring honor to her." Hans delights in the blush of pink which stains Elsa's cheeks with his words. He bows deeply, and the people erupt further in celebration.

OoooOoooOoooO

Elsa pauses as they get back to the steps of the castle, then says quietly to Hans like solving a complex equation for her mathematics tutor, "The people need to see there is beauty in my magic. See the fun. I need something to distract from the fact I am a wielder of horrific icy disasters."

Anna, who has been chattering on with excitement beside Elsa the entire walk back, arms linked says, "What about skating in the courtyard of the castle? You could turn it into an iced rink and let everyone enjoy a winter activity when it's warm? Like a party!"

Hans is about to say, well, something about how ridiculous that is when Elsa smiles enthusiastically, "I've always wanted to do that."

He snaps it shut.

It would be useful to have the people see the frivolity Elsa is capable of - ice skating is carefree and idle. Except there is too much to be done, now, for Hans to appropriately enjoy such an activity. "With Her Majesty's permission, I would like I draft the decree dismissing the Duke of Weselton from Arendelle, and see to it he is escorted back to his ship?"

The lightness in Elsa's eyes fades some, "You don't care to skate?"

"On the contrary, I very much do." Hans reassures, "I am quite adept at it. It is just that in light of recent events I would recommend dispatching the entire Weselton delegation without delay. Before more damage is done by the man."

Elsa looks torn. He sees the sharp, cold mind of an exacting ruler flash in her eyes. _Good girl_ , Hans thinks.

So Hans adds, because it is what she needs, "Take a moment to be playful. Such moments allow you to endear yourself to your people, which at present is far more valuable and cannot be delegated. Handling Weselton can be."

"Hm," Elsa sucks at her cheek with breath held, pondering. With a press of shoulders back she says to the head steward, "Take Prince Hans to the Minister of Trade. He has authority as my agent to deal with relations with that awful duke's dutchy."

Elsa gives Hans a deliciously fierce look, "Cut off trade. _Arendelle will henceforth and forever no longer do business of any sort with Weaseltown."_

"Weselton," Hans corrects. "It's pronounced Weselton."

"Oh?" Elsa hums vaguely, turning en point with a knowing smile to once again link arms with Anna, "I can't be bothered to learn it _now_. I have more pressing matters to attend to."

Hans can't agree more. He makes note to add insult to injury and ensure _everyone_ mispronounces the duke's name.

.

.

.

It is later, after dispatching the little prick of a man and his entourage from Arendelle. Hans is watching Elsa from afar and considers everything that's occurred. Considers how closely his plot to seduce the Queen of Arendelle aligned with his fate - and how he would gladly have nothing to do ruling if it meant he could simply breath her air. He's fairly certain his father will not allow him to remain in Arendelle, stay and play at advisor without incentive and benefit of the Southern Isles, and he'll be sailing back home shortly as things fall into place.

Hans stands before a large window in the queen's study where he has full advantage of the courtyard. It's cobblestones are neatly coated with thick layers of the smoothest ice he's ever seen, water from the fountains frozen as if paused dancing in midair by an artist. Laughter from young and old lifts into the air, pleasant and idle on the warm breeze. It's evening, and the crowds haven't thinned in the slightest, rather grown in numbers. The kitchens have been busy preparing plates of treats sweet and savory to pass, and casks of ale have been tapped. Hot chocolate and krumkake are offered to the children (and Anna).

So _this_ is what a party looks like, genuinely, without the pomp and circumstance.

It's a moment in time Hans commits to memory because in the center of all this gayety is a breathtakingly beautiful young woman who's been destined to be his since before she was even a thought in her parent's mind or mother's womb, and she's so genuinely happy her cheeks must ache by now. How they arrived at this moment in time is quite remarkable.

Hans frowns, because there is so much to do before they get to live happily ever after - he's not yet mention to Elsa, but knowledge that they are soulmates should probably be hidden away. Mistrust of magic being what it is, it pains Hans to consider that a future union (and there will be) may possibly be criticized for being unnatural. Anna and Kristoff will have to disclose their fate - there is no other means to successfully explain or justify a possible union for them. That is, later.

That is a problem for later.

OoooOoooOoooO

It takes the better part of a year for a courtship and official engagement to publicly begin, and only after carefully crafted treaties are exhaustingly negotiated. Tensions run high, unconfirmed reports of the Southern Isles insisting upon contingency to be written-in absolving the kingdom of penalty when a soulmate presents to Prince Hans following the union (Hans' is known to be the only prince in the gaggle of Southern Isles royalty to bear a soul mark). Arendelle refuses to allow it. That derails talks entirely for a full fortnight until the Southern Isles presses forward, instead demands for an abridged courtship.

Talk is the Queen of Arendelle giggled _gleefully_ at that.

In between it all are prolifically written letters and favors exchanged almost daily between the Queen and the Prince, most through well bought and quite unofficial means, as to avoid the eyes of the Crown of the Southern Isles. Or so talk goes.

It was a friendship, a love, a thrilling conspiracy that was impressive to behold, or so it was said, regarding the romance of the Snow Queen of Arendelle and the youngest Prince of the Southern Isles.

It is late spring and at dusk when Hans disembarks his ship and steps foot on Arendelle soil for the first time in months and finds his Queen standing with poorly concealed excitement in her face. The evening air falls still around them, as does the world for a moment. Like time paused.

Hans is at a loss of words, mind drawn blank and replaced with a madness to take Elsa into his arms and never let go.

Before Hans can say anything proper, Elsa has stopped before him and pressed her palm to where his mark it. She says, and playing at coy, "I believe this is part where we live happily ever after, my heart."

And they do.

After all, it's true love.

* * *

 **A/N: Mahalo for reading, following, favoriting and reviewing this one-shot which demanded to grow into it's own fic. :)**

 **Banana-Rama**


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